Life is the wave's deep whisper on the shore Of a great sea beyond.
The noblest works of human art and pride show that their makers were not satisfied.
Though Duty's face is stern, her path is best: They sweetly sleep who die upon her breast.
The artist labors while he may, But finds at best too brief the day; And, tho' his works outlast the time And nation that they make sublime, He feels and sees that Nature knows Nothing of time in what she does, But has a leisure infinite Wherein to do her work aright.
Love is the key-note of the universe-- The theme, the melody.
All governments, Books, customs, buildings, railways, ships, and all the stark realities that men have made, Are but imagination's utterances.