text: There may be chaos still around the world,
  This little world that in my thinking lies;
  For mine own bosom is the paradise
  Where all my lifes fair visions are unfurled.
  Within my natures shell I slumber curled,
  Unmindful of the changing outer skies,
  Where now, perchance, some new-born Eros flies,
  Or some old Cronos from his throne is hurled.
  I heed them not; or if the subtle night
  Haunt me with deities I never saw,
  I soon mine eyelids drowsy curtain draw
  To hide their myriad faces from my sight.
  They threat in vain; the whirlwind cannot awe
  A happy snow-flake dancing in the flaw.