The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!

And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.

But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

Earth has not anything to show more fair.

Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.