And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.

For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

O son, thou hast not true humility, The highest virtue, mother of them all; But her thou hast not know; for what is this? Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself.

Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.

Sweet is true love, though given in vain.