How if thou hast drawn over-liberally from the good jar? What if not even now have I departed wholly from thee? What if this very mutability of mine is a just ground for hoping better things? But listen now, and cease to let thy heart consume away with fretfulness, nor expect to live on thine own terms in a realm that is common to all.’ ”

Man’s Covetousness

What though Plenty pour her gifts With a lavish hand, Numberless as are the stars, Countless as the sand, Will the race of man, content, Cease to murmur and lament?

Nay, though God, all-bounteous, give Gold at man’s desire⁠— Honours, rank, and fame⁠—content Not a whit is nigher; But an all-devouring greed Yawns with ever-widening need.