A world where nothing is had for nothing. - Arthur Hugh Clough

In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly,
But westward, look, the land is bright.

So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone,
I with my secret self held communing of mine own.

Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane,
East wind and frost are safely gone;
With zephyr mild and balmy rain
The summer comes serenely on;
Earth, air, and sun and skies combine
To promise all that’s kind and fair:—
But thou, O human heart of mine,
Be still, contain thyself, and bear.