I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
Science grows and Beauty dwindles.
The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.
He makes no friend who never made a foe.
I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
O Blackbird! sing me something well: While all the neighbors shoot thee round, I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell.