This is England's greatest son,/ He that gained a hundred fights,/ Nor ever lost an English gun. |
This is my son, mine own Telemachus. |
This truth within thy mind rehearse,/ That in a boundless universe/ Is boundless better, boundless worse. |
This way and that dividing the swift mind. |
Tho'/ We are not now that strength that in old days/ Moved earth and heaven: that which we are, we are;/ One equal temper of heroic hearts,/ Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will/ To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. |
Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were furled/ In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world. |
Time driveth onward fast,/ And in a little while our lips are dumb./ Let us alone. What is it that will last?/ All things are taken from us, and become/ Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. |
Time, a maniac scattering dust,/ And Life, a Fury slinging flame. |
To do him any wrong was to beget a kindness from him, for his heart was rich - of such fine mould that if you sowed therein the seed of hate, it blossomed charity. |
To love one maiden only, cleave to her,/ And worship her by years of noble deeds,/ Until they won her. |
To-night the winds begin to rise/ And roar from yonder dropping day:/ The last red leaf is whirled away,/ The rooks are blown about the skies. |
Trust me not at all, or all in all. |
Upon the middle of the night./ Waking she heard the night-fowl crow. |
Vex not thou the poet's mind With thy shallow wit: Vex not thou the poet's mind; For thou canst not fathom it |
We are Ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times |