What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
Love betters what is best
When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.