There Are Some Feelings Time Cannot Benumb,

This Man Is Freed From Servile Bands, Of Hope To Rise, Or Fear To Fall; Lord Of Himself, Though Not Of Lands, And Leaving Nothing, Yet Hath All.

Keep Thy Smooth Words And Juggling Homilies For Those Who Know Thee Not.

Perhaps The Early Grave Which Men Weep Over May Be Meant To Save.

Reason Is So Unreasonable, That Few People Can Say They Are In Possession Of It.

Italia! O Italia! Thou Who Hast The Fatal Gift Of Beauty.