Politicians neither love nor hate.
Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
For all have not the gift of martyrdom.
All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.
Happy the man, and happy he alone, he, who can call today his own.
Thus, while the mute creation downward bend Their sight, and to their earthly mother ten, Man looks aloft; and with erected eyes Beholds his own hereditary skies.