It Is When We Think

Ancient Of Days! August Athena! Where, Where Are Thy Men Of Might? Thy Grand In Soul? Gone--glimmering Through The Dream Of Things That Were; First In The Race That Led To Glory's Goal, They Won, And Pass'd Away--is This The Whole?

Dreading That Climax Of All Human Ills The Inflammation Of His Weekly Bills.

Not To Admire, Is All The Art I Know To Make Men Happy, Or To Keep Them So. Thus Horace Wrote We All Know Long Ago; And Thus Pope Quotes The Precept To Re-teach From His Translation; But Had None Admired, Would Pope Have Sung, Or Horace Been Inspired?

Oh That The Desert Were My Dwelling-place, With One Fair Spirit For My Minister

Think'st Thou Existence Doth Depend On Time? It Doth; But Actions Are Our Epochs.