Set All Things In Their

All, As They Say, That Glitters Is Not Gold.

Even Victors Are By Victories Undone.

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.

Prodigious Actions May As Well Be Done, By Weaver's Issue, As The Prince's Son.

A Lively Faith Will Bear Aloft The Mind, And Leave The Luggage Of Good Works Behind.