Open my heart and you will seeGraved inside of it, Italy.
Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made ...
Like dogs in a wheel, birds in a cage, or squirrels in a chain, ambitious men still climb and climb, with great labor, and incessant anxiety, but never reach the top.
Your children are not dead. They are just waiting until the world deserves them.
I count life just a stuff to try the soul's strength on.
I.My first thought was, he lied in every word,That hoary cripple, with malicious eyeAskance to watch the workings of his lieOn mine, and mouth scarce able to affordSuppression of the glee, that pursed...
Man's reach should exceed his grasp or what's a heaven for?
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,One task more declin'd, one more foot-path ontrod,One more devil's triumph and sorrow for angels,One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.
It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.
T'were too absurd to slight for the hereafter the day's delight!
Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.