Alas! Is Even Love Too Weak To

The Heart Less Bounding At Emotion New, The Hope, Once Crushed, Less Quick To Spring Again.

Fate Gave, What Chance Shall Not Control, His Sad Lucidity Of Soul.

No, No! The Energy Of Life May Be Kept On After The Grave, But Not Begun; And He Who Flagg'd Not In The Earthly Strife, From Strength To Strength Advancing--only He His Soul Well-knit, And All His Battles Won, Mounts, And That Hardly, To Eternal Life.

And See All Sights From Pole To Pole, And Glance, And Nod, And Hustle By; And Never Once Possess Our Soul Before We Die.

The Sophist Sneers: Fool, Take Thy Pleasure, Right Or Wrong! The Pious Wail: Forsake A World These Sophists Throng! Be Neither Saint Nor Sophist-led, But Be A Man.