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?

One so small Who knowing nothing knows but to obey.

Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.

And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

Science grows and Beauty dwindles.

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.

Either sex alone is half itself.