To its own impulse every creature stirs; Live by thy light, and earth will live by hers!

Is it so small a thing To have enjoyed the sun, To have lived in the spring, To have loved, to have thought, to have done?

Know, man hath all which Nature hath, but more, And in that more lie all his hopes of good.

We forget because we must And not because we will.

Mind is a light which the Gods mock us with, To lead those false who trust it.

Most men eddy about Here and there-eat and drink, Chatter and love and hate, Gather and squander, are raised Aloft, are hurled in the dust, Striving blindly, achieving Nothing; and then they die- Perish;-and no one asks Who or what they have been.

Nature, with equal mind, Sees all her sons at play; Sees man control the wind, The wind sweep man away; Allows the proudly-riding and the foundering bark.

Sad patience, too near neighbor to despair.

Once read thy own breast right, And thou hast done with fears.

A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of Time.