Hardness Ever Of Hardness Is Mother.

Cease Thy Counsel, For Thy Words Fall Into My Ears As Priceless As Water Into A Seive.

Infirm Of Purpose! Give Me The Daggers: The Sleeping And The Dead Are But As Pictures: ‘tis The Eye Of Childhood That Fears A Painted Devil

Within The Book And Volume Of Thy Brain.

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.

All His Successors Gone Before Him Have Done 't; And All His Ancestors That Come After Him May.