Ambition is not what man does... but what man would do.
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.
Sappho survives, because we sing her songs; And Eschylus, because we read his plays!
Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.
God is in his Heaven, all's right with the world.
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.