Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!

And I have written three books on the soul, Proving absurd all written hitherto, And putting us to ignorance again.

Day! Faster and more fast. O'er night's brim, day boils at last.

Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.

Graved inside of it, "Italy".

The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.

Fair or foul the lot apportioned life on earth, we bear alike.