The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.

Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

Man's word is God in man.

What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.

Shall the hag Evil die with the child of Good, Or propagate again her loathèd kind, Thronging the cells of the diseased mind, Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood, Though hourly pastured on the salient blood?

Live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.