A Beardless Cynic Is The Shame Of

Flowers Of All Hue, And Without Thorn The Rose.

And Now The Herald Lark Left His Ground-nest, High Tow'ring To Descry The Morn's Approach, And Greet Her With His Song.

O Conscience, Into What Abyss Of Fears And Horrors Hast Thou Driven Me, Out Of Which I Find No Way, From Deep To Deeper Plunged.

Where Shame Is, There Is Also Fear.

Socrates... Whom Well Inspir'd The Oracle Pronounc'd Wisest Of Men.