The Trivial Round, The Common Task,would Furnish

Sprinkled Along The Waste Of Years Full Many A Soft Green Isle Appears: Pause Where We May Upon The Desert Road, Some Shelter Is In Sight, Some Sacred Safe Abode.

For As Fire Is Kindled By Fire, So Is A Poet's Mind Kindled By Contact With A Brother Poet.

Time's Waters Will Not Ebb Nor Stay.

Blest Are The Pure In Heart, For They Shall See Our God. The Secret Of The Lord Is Theirs; Their Soul Is Christ's Abode.

Pride Of The Dewy Morning, The Swain's Experienced Eye From Thee Takes Timely Warning. Nor Trusts The Gorgeous Sky.