Freedom Exists Only With Power.

Wouldst Thou Wisely, And With Pleasure, Pass The Days Of Life's Short Measure, From The Slow One Counsel Take, But A Tool Of Him Ne'er Make; Ne'er As Friend The Swift One Know, Nor The Constant One As Foe.

Even Now, Nature Is The Only Flame, On Which The Poetic Spirit Feeds; From It Alone It Draws All Its Power, To It Alone It Speaks Even In The Artificial, In The Man Engaged In Culture.

The Dignity Of Man Into Your Hands Is Given; Oh, Keep It Well, With You It Sinks Or Lifts Itself To Heaven.

No Greater Grief Than To Remember Days Of Gladness When Sorrow Is At Hand.

Weep, For The Light Is Dead.