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?

The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.

Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.

Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover.

Yet tears to human suffering are due; And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.