To Each His Suff'rings: All Are Men,

The Insect-youth Are On The Wing, Eager To Taste The Honied Spring, And Float Amid The Liquid Noon!

Beyond The Limits Of A Vulgar Fate, Beneath The Good How Far,-but Far Above The Great.

There Are Certain Scenes That Would Awe An Atheist Into Belief, Without The Help Of Other Argument.

For Who, To Dumb Forgetfulness A Prey, This Pleasing Anxious Being E'er Resign'd, Left The Warm Precincts Of The Cheerful Day, Nor Cast One Longing Ling'ring Look Behind?

Some Village Hampden, That With Dauntless Breast The Little Tyrant Of His Fields Withstood, Some Mute Inglorious Milton Here May Rest, Some Cromwell Guiltless Of His Country's Blood.