From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.

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

Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.

That man's the best cosmopolite Who loves his native country best.

As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.