This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

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?

Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.

Stop thinking for once in your life!

But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.

Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!

We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.