The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!
Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.
I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.
Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away.
All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.
Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.
Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do!
It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.
Like dogs in a wheel, birds in a cage, or squirrels in a chain, ambitious men still climb and climb, with great labor, and incessant anxiety, but never reach the top.