Behind white wordless walls I pass the day,
A happy crescent grin upon my face;
While out-of-doors foul Chaos has his way,
Here safe I lay in Silence’s embrace.
Ah, what a view above eternity!
Could those without wish more for sweeter climes?
Why jealous of the poor fools should I be,
So steeped in woeful Vice, so touched by Time?
Fondly these fingers stroke the windowpane,
Glass guardian, with which my hunger slakes
Bright jewels of joy—the treasure of my brain—
Whose bounty from me no one would dare take.
And through the din I hear wise Caution’s call:
"He cannot die who hath not lived at all!"