O Innocence, with laughing eyes! Thou art a cherub from the skies, A wanderer from heaven..

Onward and sublime Will ever glide The silent stream of Time, That bears us on its tide..

Nature declares herself in her works. What exists beyond her domain, if anything, becomes necessarily a matter of faith or imagination..

It rolls in grandeur lone-- The stream of Time; And on its shores lie strown The wrecks of every clime..