And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
Follow thou thy choice.
Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.
A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.