Therefore I summon age / To grant youth's heritage.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift, Is quick and transient,- comes, and lo! is gone, While Northern thought is slow and durable.

Desire joy and thank God for it. Renounce it, if need be, for other's sake. That's joy beyond joy.

Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.

Talent should minister to genius.

Any nose may ravage with impunity a rose.