Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.

Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.

Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.

The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.

Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.