I’ll know no more; - the heart is torn By views of woe we cannot heal; Long shall I see these things forlorn, And oft again their griefs shall feel, As each upon the mind shall steal; That wan projector’s mystic style, That lumpish idiot leering by, That peevish idler’s ceaseless wile, And that poor maiden’s half-form’d smile, While struggling for the full-drawn sigh! - I’ll know no more.