... When One's Outward Lot Is Perfect,

There Are New Eras In One's Life That Are Equivalent To Youth-are Something Better Than Youth.

Obligation May Be Stretched Till It Is No Better Than A Brand Of Slavery Stamped On Us When We Were Too Young To Know Its Meaning.

Souls Live On In Perpetual Echoes.

What Moments Of Despair That Life Would Ever Be Made Precious To Me By The Consciousness That I Lived To Some Good Purpose! It Was That Sort Of Despair That Sucked Away The Sap Of Half The Hours Which Might Have Been Filled By Energetic Youthful Activity: And The Same Demon Tries To Get Hold Of Me Again Whenever An Old Work Is Dismissed And A New One Is Being Meditated.

Melodies Die Out, Like The Pipe Of Pan, With The Ears That Love Them And Listen For Them.