A people is but the attempt of many To rise to the completer life of one; And those who live as models for the mass Are singly of more value than they all.
Aspire, break bounds. Endeavor to be good, and better still, best.
Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
They are perfect; how else?-they shall never change: We are faulty; why not?-we have time in store.
Inscribe all human effort with one word, artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete!
Oh never star Was lost here but it rose afar.