Time Conquers All, And We Must Time

Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled: / The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World!

Some Place The Bliss In Action, Some In Ease, Those Call It Pleasure, And Contentment These.

Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In Wit A Man; Simplicity, A Child.

The Search Of Our Future Being Is But A Needless, Anxious, And Haste To Be Knowing, Sooner Than We Can, What, Without All This Solicitude, We Shall Know A Little Later.

Expression Is The Dress Of Thought.