Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.
Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.
I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul
The mighty hopes that make us men.