Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.

My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea

Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.

Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.

Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest art of all the arts. Painting and sculpture are but images, Are merely shadows cast by outward things On stone or canvas, having in themselves No separate existence. Architecture, Existing in itself, and not in seeming A something it is not, surpasses them As substance shadow.

I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.

Let the dead Past bury its dead!