We Frolic While 'tis May.

Full Many A Gem Of Purest Ray Serene, The Dark Unfathomed Caves Of Ocean Bear.

Visions Of Glory, Spare My Aching Sight! Ye Unborn Ages, Crowd Not On My Soul!

Along The Cool Sequestered Vale Of Life, They Kept The Noiseless Tenour Of Their Way.

Any Fool May Write A Most Valuable Book By Chance, If He Will Only Tell Us What He Heard And Saw With Veracity.

Nor Grandeur Hear With A Disdainful Smile The Short And Simple Annals Of The Poor.