Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.

When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.

Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn

Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.

Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect

Here must thou be, O man, Strength to thyself - no helper hast thou here - Here keepest thou thy individual state: No other can divide with thee this work, No secondary hand can intervene To fashion this ability. 'Tis thine, The prime and vital principle is thine In the recesses of thy nature, far From any reach of outward fellowship, Else 'tis not thine at all.

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?