I stood on a tower in the wet, And New Year and Old Year met, And winds were roaring and blowing: And I said, "O years, that meet in tears, Have ye aught that is worth the knowing? Science enough and exploring, Wanderers coming and going, Matter enough for deploring, But aught that is worth the knowing?

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.

Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.

Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.

The greater man the greater courtesy.

The noonday quiet holds the hill.