Richard Henry Horne

On me, on me Time and change can heap no more! The painful past with blighting grief Hath left my heart a withered leaf. Time and change can do no more.

Ye rigid Plowmen! Bear in mind Your labor is for future hours. Advance! spare not! nor look behind! Plow deep and straight with all your powers!

The laurel-tree grew large and strong, Its roots went searching deeply down; It split the marble walls of Wrong, And blossomed o'er the Despot's crown.

Far out at sea,—the sun was high, While veer'd the wind and flapped the sail, We saw a snow-white butterfly Dancing before the fitful gale, Far out at sea.

The wisdom of mankind creeps slowly on, Subject to every doubt that can retard Or fling it back upon an earlier time.

A sweet content Passing all wisdom or its fairest flower.

'T is always morning somewhere in the world.