I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd: 'I Myself am Heav'n and Hell
I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
Drink! for you know not whence you came nor why: drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
There was a door to which I found no key: There was the veil through which I might not see.
The thoughtful soul to solitude retires.
A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.