Pascal

Thou lovedst life, but not to brand it thine (O rich in all forborne felicities!), Nor use it with marauding power, to seize And stain the sweet earth's blue horizon-line. Virgin the grape might in the trellis twine Where thou hadst long ago an hour of ease, And foot of thine across the unpressed leas Went light as some Idæan foot divine. Spirit so abstinent, in thy deeps lay What passion of possession? Day by day Was there no thirst upon thee, sharp and pure, In forward sea-like surges unforgot? Yes: and in life and death those joys endure More blessedly, that men can name them not.