It Is No Learning To Understand What

Less Shame A Greater Fault Would Palliate.

Consider The Sea's Listless Chime: Time's Self It Is, Made Audible.

The Glory Of Him Who Moves Everything Penetrates Through The Universe, And Is Resplendent In One Part More And In Another Less.

Nothing Which Is Harmonized By The Bond Of The Muse Can Be Changed From Its Own To Another Language Without Destroying Its Sweetness

Here Let Dead Poetry Rise Once More To Life.