Thrown upon the world, his mind found itself fit for the world, and embraced it all.

Nothing of that mind was lost in the infinite.

Himself a poet, he knew only the poetry of action.
He limited to the earth his powerful dream of life.

In his terrible and touching naivete he believed that a man could be great, and neither time nor misfortune made him lose that idea.

His youth, or rather his sublime adolescence, lasted as long as he lived, because life never brought him a real maturity.