From the Original Draft of the Poem to William Shelley

The world is now our dwelling-place;

Where'er the earth one fading trace

Of what was great and free does keep,

That is our home!...

Mild thoughts of man's ungentle race

Shall our contented exile reap;

For who that in some happy place

His own free thoughts can freely chase

By woods and waves can clothe his face

In cynic smiles? Child! we shall weep.