Sand-strewn Caverns, Cool And Deep, Where The

Beautiful City! . . . Spreading Her Gardens To The Moonlight, And Whispering From Her Towers The Last Enchantments Of The Middle Age . . . Her Ineffable Charm. . . . Adorable Dreamer, Whose Heart Has Been So Romantic!

Man Errs Not That He Deems His Welfare His True Aim, He Errs Because He Dreams The World Does But Exist That Welfare To Bestow.

Sand-strewn Caverns, Cool And Deep, Where The Winds Are All Asleep; Where The Spent Lights Quiver And Gleam; Where The Salt Weed Sways In The Stream.

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

For Eager Teachers Seized My Youth, Pruned My Faith And Trimmed My Fire. Showed Me The High, White Star Of Truth, There Bade Me Gaze And There Aspire.