Sonnet

Pleasure! They know her not, the sons of Earth, 
     Who woo her smiles amid the loud uproar 
Of festal halls and scenes of uncouth mirth,
     Where wine and song and jest together pour:
True Pleasure is a spirit of heavenly birth,
     Who shuns the haughty and the proud man's door,
To bless the poor, the humble, and the just, 
     The upright one, the meek, the pure in heart.
Untabernacled in our mouldering dust, 
     Of earth and earthly joys she hath no part:
Vainly they seek her undregg'd cup, who trust
     To the device of ever erring Art, 
For unmixed Pleasure dwelleth only in 
The heart which is made pure from every stain of sin.