If One Waits For The Right Time

Fate Loves Best Such Syllables As Are Sweet And Sonorous On The Tongue.

Fortune Is The Rod Of The Weak, And The Staff Of The Brave.

Did Man E'er Live Saw Priest Or Woman Yet Forgive?

Dear Common Flower, That Grow'st Beside The Way, Fringing The Dusty Road With Harmless Gold, First Pledge Of Blithesome May, Which Children Pluck, And, Full Of Pride Uphold.

The Wisest Man Could Ask No More Of Fate Than To Be Simple, Modest, Manly, True, Safe From The Many, Honored By The Few; Nothing To Court In Church, Or World, Or State, But Inwardly In Secret To Be Great.