Like human babes in their brief innocence;
  And we will search, with looks and words of love,
  For hidden thoughts, each lovelier than the last,
  Our unexhausted spirits; and, like lutes
  Touched by the skill of the enamoured wind,
  Weave harmonies divine, yet ever new,
  From difference sweet where discord cannot be;
  And hither come, sped on the charmèd winds,
  Which meet from all the points of heaven--as bees
  From every flower aërial Enna feeds
  At their known island-homes in Himera--
  The echoes of the human world, which tell
  Of the low voice of love, almost unheard,
  And dove-eyed pity's murmured pain, and music,
  Itself the echo of the heart, and all
  That tempers or improves man's life, now free;
  And lovely apparitions,--dim at first,
  Then radiant, as the mind arising bright
  From the embrace of beauty (whence the forms
  Of which these are the phantoms) casts on them
  The gathered rays which are reality--
  Shall visit us the progeny immortal
  Of Painting, Sculpture, and rapt Poesy,
  And arts, though unimagined, yet to be;