Life did not present its sunny side to thee.
Think with awe on the slow and quiet power of time.
Without a home must the soldier go, a changeful wanderer, and can warm himself at no home-lit hearth.
Life is earnest, art is gay.
This is the curse of an evil deed, that it incites and must bring forth more evil.
Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel for the first violet which March brings us, the fragrant pledge of the new-fledged year.