Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dialer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts.

For always roaming with a hungry heart.

Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!

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

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.

The old order changes yielding place to new.

All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.