The Tragic Element In Poetry Is Like

Art Is Long, And Time Is Fleeting, And Our Hearts, Though Stout And Brave, Still, Like Muffled Drums, Are Beating Funeral Marches To The Grave.

At Daybreak, On The Bleak Sea-beach, A Fisherman Stood Aghast, To See The Form Of A Maiden Fair, Lashed Close To A Drifting Mast.

Look Not Mournfully Into The Past, It Comes Not Back Again. Wisely Improve The Present, It Is Thine. Go Forth To Meet The Shadowy Future Without Fear And With A Manly Heart.

If A Woman Shows Too Often The Medusa's Head, She Must Not Be Astonished If Her Lover Is Turned Into Stone.

For Next To Being A Great Poet Is The Power Of Understanding One.