We live by admiration, hope and love.

The unconquerable pang of despised love.

The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow

The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.

There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.

His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.