Calm's Not Life's Crown, Though Calm Is

Creep Into Thy Narrow Bed, Creep, And Let No More Be Said!

With Aching Hands And Bleeding Feet We Dig And Heap, Lay Stone On Stone; We Bear The Burden And The Heat Of The Long Day, And Wish 'twere Done. Not Till The Hours Of Light Return All We Have Built Do We Discern.

And We Forget Because We Must And Not Because We Will.

The Greek Word Euphuia, A Finely Tempered Nature, Gives Exactly The Notion Of Perfection As Culture Brings Us To Perceive It; A Harmonious Perfection, A Perfection In Which The Characters Of Beauty And Intelligence Are Both Present, Which Unites "the Two Noblest Of Things" - As Swift Most Happily Calls Them In His Battle Of The Books, "the Two Noblest Of Things, Sweetness And Light."

All Pains The Immortal Spirit Must Endure, All Weakness That Impairs, All Griefs That Bow, Find Their Sole Voice In That Victorious Brow.