O Winter, Ruler Of The Inverted Year!

Accomplishments Have Taken Virtue's Place, And Wisdom Falls Before Exterior Grace.

All Flesh Is Grass. And All Its Glory Fades Like The Fair Flower Dishevell'd In The Wind; Riches Have Wings, And Grandeur Is A Dream; The Man We Celebrate Must Find A Tomb, And We That Worship Him, Ignoble Graves.

Lived In His Saddle, Loved The Chase, The Course, And Always, Ere He Mounted, Kiss'd His Horse.

All Constraint, / Except What Wisdom Lays On Evil Men, / Is Evil.

Defend Me, Therefore, Common Sense, Say From Reveries So Airy, From The Toil Of Dropping Buckets Into Empty Wells, And Growing Old In Drawing Nothing Up.