My spirit is too weak; mortality br Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, br And each imagined pinnacle and steep br Of godlike hardship tells me I must die br Like a sick eagle looking at the sky. br Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep, br That I have not the cloudy winds to keep br Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye. br Such dim-conceived glories of the brain br Bring round the heart an indescribable feud; br So do these wonders a most dizzy pain, br That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude br Wasting of old Time -with a billowy main, br A sun, a shadow of a magnitude.