  I shall not pass this way again; But near by is the town where I was born; I loved it well. And near my heart my mother State; She wreathed her sword with freedom, learning, law When tyrants fell. Three words from Athens held me long; Nothing-too-much, proportion, harmony; By these excel. I never hurried for the goal, But like the tortoise travelled steadily, Sans band, sans bell. Born when the star of Spring arose, Haply my auspices were cast for calm Of wood and dell. Form I admired and sounds and scents; Motion of waters, silences of stars— Mighty their spell! No senate called me from the plow; No hundred thousand readers read my books— They did not sell. Many the friends when life was new Heaven sent to me, but now, alas, reclaimed; Sound, Muse, their knell. You, who hereafter pass this way, Remember him who made this simple book And say farewell. |
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