The single eye, the daughter of the light;
Well pleased to recognise in lowliest shade
Some glimmer of its parent beam, and made
By daily draughts of brightness, inly bright.
The taste severe, yet graceful, trained aright
In classic depth and clearness, and repaid
By thanks and honour from the wise and staid–
By pleasant skill to blame, and yet delight,
And high communion with the eloquent throng
Of those who purified our speech and song–
All these are yours. The same examples lure,
You in each woodland, me on breezy moor–
With kindred aim the same sweet path along,
To knit in loving knowledge rich and poor.