He Will Find One English

Wandering Between Two Worlds, One Dead, The Other Powerless To Be Born.

Greatness Is A Spiritual Condition.

Still Bent To Make Some Port He Knows Not Where, Still Standing For Some False Impossible Shore.

Goethe In Weimar Sleeps, And Greece, Long Since, Saw Byron 's Struggle Cease.

And Thou, Who Didst The Stars And Sunbeams Know, Self-school'd, Self-scann'd, Self-honour'd, Self-secure, Didst Tread On Earth Unguess'd At. Better So! All Pains The Immortal Spirit Must Endure, All Weakness Which Impairs, All Griefs Which Bow, Find Their Sole Speech In That Victorious Brow.