A dedication is a wooden leg.
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!
Final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation.
There buds the promise of celestial worth.
The soul of man was made to walk the skies.
And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?