Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
The song that nerves a nation's heart is in itself a deed.
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
The greater man the greater courtesy.
The noonday quiet holds the hill.