Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away.
I do what many dream of, all their lives
It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.
What I aspired to be and was not, comforts me.
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?
Be sure they sleep not whom God needs.