While We've Youth In Our Hearts, We

The Wind Blows Out, The Bubble Dies; The Spring Entomb'd In Autumn Lies; The Dew Dries Up; The Star Is Shot; The Flight Is Past, And Man Forgot.

These Are The Hands Whose Sturdy Labor Brings The Peasant's Food, The Golden Pomp Of Kings; This Is The Page Whose Letters Shall Be Seen, Changed By The Sun To Words Of Living Green; This Is The Scholar Whose Immortal Penspells The First Lesson Hunger Taught To Men; These Are The Lines That Heaven-commanded Toil Shows On His Deed, - The Charter Of The Soil!

Go On, Fair Science; Soon To Thee Shall Nature Yield Her Idle Boast; Her Vulgar Lingers Formed A Tree, But Thou Hast Trained It To A Post.

I Have No Respect For The Passion Of Equality, Which Seems To Me Merely Idealizing Envy - I Don't Disparage Envy, But I Don't Accept It As Legitimately My Master.

I Despise Making The Most Of One's Time. Half Of The Pleasures Of Life Consist Of The Opportunities One Has Neglected.