They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, / They brought me bitter news to hear, and bitter tears to shed.

They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, / They brought me bitter news to hear, and bitter tears to shed.

Your chilly stars I can forgo, this warm kind world is all I know.

But you go to a great school, not for knowledge so much as for arts and habits; for the habit of attention, for the art of expression, for the art of assuming at a moment's notice a new intellectual posture, for the art of entering quickly into another person's thoughts, for the habit of submitting to censure and refutation, for the art of indicating assent or dissent in graduated terms, for the habit of regarding minute points of accuracy, for the habit of working out what is possible in a given time, for taste, for discrimination, for mental courage and mental soberness.

All beauteous things for which we live By laws of space and time decay. But Oh, the very reason why I clasp them, is because they die.

Somewhere there must one Made for this soul, to move it.