He Who Considers Too Much Will Perform

Truth Exists For The Wise, Beauty For The Feeling Heart.

Joy All Creatures Drink At Nature's Bosoms.

Man Is Made Of Ordinary Things, And Habit Is His Nurse.

Posterity Weaves No Garlands For Imitators.

The Empire Of Saturnus Is Gone By; Lord Of The Secret Birth Of Things Is He; Within The Lap Of Earth, And In The Depths Of The Imagination Dominates; And His Are All Things That Eschew The Light. The Time Is O'er Of Brooding And Contrivance, For Jupiter, The Lustrous, Lordeth Now, And The Dark Work, Complete Of Preparation, He Draws By Force Into The Realm Of Light. Now Must We Hasten On To Action, Ere The Scheme, And Most Auspicious Positure Parts O'er My Head, And Takes Once More Its Flight, For The Heavens Journey Still, And Adjourn Not.