Weary Of Myself, And Sick Of Asking

They... Who Await. No Gifts From Chance, Have Conquered Fate.

Strew On Her Roses, Roses, And Never A Spray Of Yew! In Quiet She Reposes; Ah, Would That I Did Too!

Nations Are Not Truly Great Solely Because The Individuals Composing Them Are Numerous, Free, And Active; But They Are Great When These Numbers, This Freedom, And This Activity Are Employed In The Service Of An Ideal Higher Than That Of An Ordinary Man Taken By Himself.

Say, Has Some Wet Bird-haunted English Lawn Lent It The Music Of Its Trees At Dawn?

Children Of Men! The Unseen Power, Whose Eye Forever Doth Accompany Mankind, Hath Look'd On No Religion Scornfully That Men Did Ever Find.