The noblest works of human art and pride show that their makers were not satisfied.

Behold the grapes and all the fruits that Autumn gives today, As robed in red and gold, she rules, the Empress of Decay!

Love is the key-note of the universe-- The theme, the melody.

Though Duty's face is stern, her path is best: They sweetly sleep who die upon her breast.

Our yesterdays Are like a lonely and a ruined land Wherein a breeze of recollection sighs-- A fading land to which is no return.

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.

And once I knew a meditative rose That never raised its head from bowing down, Yet drew its inspiration from the stars. It bloomed and faded here beside the road, And, being a poet, wrote on empty air With fragrance all the beauty of its soul.