The luck will alter and the star will rise.

In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain, And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.

Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.

Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.

But he has gone, A nation's memory and veneration, Among the radiant, ever venturing on, Somewhere, with morning, as such spirits will.