Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.

I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.

Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.

All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.

Nor is it wiser to weep a true occasion lost, but trim our sails, and let old bygones be.

Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.