Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is
We are happy when for everything inside us there is a corresponding something outside us.
I thought of rhyme alone, For rhyme can beat a measure out of trouble And make the daylight sweet once more.
My soul had found All happiness in its own cause or ground. Godhead on Godhead in sexual spasm begot Godhead. Some shadow fell. My soul forgot Those amorous cries that out of quiet come And must the common round of day resume.
Because this age and the next age Engender in the ditch, No man can know a happy man From any passing wretch, If Folly link with Elegance No man knows which is which.
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