At Last Awake From Life, That Insane

And Let Them Pass, As They Will Too Soon, With The Bean-flowers' Boon, And The Blackbird's Tune, And May, And June!

The Only Fault's With Time; All Men Become Good Creatures: But So Slow!

We Mortals Cross The Ocean Of This World Each In His Average Cabin Of A Life; The Bests Not Big, The Worst Yields Elbowroom.

What So Wild As Words Are?

Praise Is Deeper Than The Lips