The wealthiest man among us is the best
This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.