The sun set, but set not his hope:
Stars rose; his faith was earlier up:
Fixed on the enormous galaxy,
Deeper and older seemed his eye;
And matched his sufferance sublime
The taciturnity of time.
He spoke, and words more soft than rain
Brought the Age of Gold again:
His action won such reverence sweet
As hid all measure of...
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His face is truly of the Roman mould,
He bears within the heart of Cato, too;
Although his look may seem severe and cold,
He never would be false to truth or you.And deepest feeling hides about the mouth;
His soul-wind blows not always from the north,
But sometimes also from the gentle south,
And then, like flowers, the tender... -
How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another’s will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Not tied unto the world with care
Of public fame or private breath;Who envies none that chance doth raise,...