The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remembered to have been Joyful and free from blame.

Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.

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.

God and Nature met in light.

How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles whom we knew.

That which we are, we are.