Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.
Pity swells the tide of love.
The person of wisdom is the person of years.
Give me, indulgent gods with mind serene, And guiltless heart, to range the sylvan scene, No splendid poverty, no smiling care, No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur, there.