I Compare Human Life To A Large

Fade Far Away, Dissolve, And Quite Forget.

The Silver, Snarling Trumpets 'gan To Chide.

Fast Fading Violets Cover'd Up In Leaves; And Mid-may's Eldest Child, The Coming Musk-rose, Full Of Dewy Wine, The Murmurous Haunt Of Flies On Summer Eves.

I Find That I Can Have No Enjoyment In The World But The Continual Drinking Of Knowledge. I Find There Is No Worthy Pursuit But The Idea Of Doing Some Good For The World.

You Speak Of Lord Byron And Me; There Is This Great Difference Between Us. He Describes What He Sees I Describe What I Imagine. Mine Is The Hardest Task.