Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self.
The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.
I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
Who longest wait of all surely wins.
Great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.
Who longest waits most surely wins.