A Man's Life Of Any

Much Have I Travell'd In The Realms Of Gold.

Where Are The Songs Of Spring? Aye, Where Are They? Think Not Of Them; Thou Has Thy Music Too.

When Old Age Shall This Generation Waste, Thou Shalt Remain, In Midst Of Other Woe Than Ours, A Friend To Man, To Whom Thou Say'st, "beauty Is Truth, Truth Beauty," - That Is All Ye Know On Earth, And All Ye Need To Know.

O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell, Let It Not Be Among The Jumbled Heap Of Murky Buildings

It Is A Flaw In Happiness To See Beyond Our Bourn, - It Forces Us In Summer Skies To Mourn, It Spoils The Singing Of The Nightingale.