Are there not thousands in the world who love their fellows even to the death, who feel the giant agony of the world, and more, like slaves to poor humanity, labor for mortal good?
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.
When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain".
O aching time! O moments big as years!
Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.
How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they