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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride. Of him who walked in glory and in joy Following his plough along the mountainside: By our own spirits are we deified.
我想到查太顿，那个了不起的孩子，那个在他的骄傲中死去的不眠的灵魂。论到那在荣耀和喜乐中，照着他的犁，在山腰上行走的，我们是被自己的灵所神化的。