Of nothing comes nothing: springs rise not above

Men are polished, through act and speech, Each by each, As pebbles are smoothed on the rolling beach.

The birds can fly, An' why can't I?

If you will observe, it doesn’t take A man of giant mould to make A giant shadow on the wall; And he who in our daily sight Seems but a figure mean and small, Outlined in Fame’s illusive light,

For me the diamond dawns are set In rings of beauty, And all my ways are dewy wet With pleasant duty.

Darius was clearly of the opinion That the air is also man’s dominion, And that, with paddle or fin or pinion, We soon or late Shall navigate The azure, as now we sail the sea.

Our days, our deeds, all we achieve or are, Lay folded in our infancy; the things Of good or ill we choose while yet unborn.