IN NEVILLE’S COURT, 
TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
I THINK the souls of many men are here 
Among these cloisters, underneath the spire 
That the moon silvers with magnetic fire ; 
But not a moon-ray is it, that so clear 
Shines on the pavement, for a voice of fear 
It hath, unless it be the breeze that mocks 
My ear, and waves his old majestic locks 
About his head.  There fell upon my ear : 
 
“ O soul contemplative of distant things, 
Who hast a poet’s heart, even if thy pen 
Be dry and barren, who dost hold Love dear, 
Speed forth this message on the fiery wings 
Of stinging song to all the race of men : 
That they have hope ;  for we are happy here.” 
 
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