Have Hope. Though clouds environs now, And gladness hides her face in scorn, Put thou the shadow from thy brow, - No night but hath its morn.
To rankling poison hast thou turned in me the milk of human kindness.
Man is created free, and is free, even though born in chains.
Only through Beauty's morning-gate, dost thou penetrate the land of knowledge.
It is play and only play that makes man complete.
Gray hairs are death's blossoms.