Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

Miss not the occasion; by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.

The very flowers are sacred to the poor.

Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.

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

The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!

A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.