The Past Is Gained, Secure, And On

I Hold That A Man Should Strive To The Uttermost For His Life's Set Prize.

'tis Well Averred, A Scientific Faith's Absurd.

That We Devote Ourselves To God, Is Seen In Living Just As Though No God There Were.

And Let Them Pass, As They Will Too Soon, With The Bean-flowers' Boon, And The Blackbird's Tune, And May, And June!

The Sad Rhyme Of The Men Who Proudly Clung To Their First Fault, And Withered In Their Pride.