His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain.

There was an old belief that in the embers
Of all things their primordial form exists,
And cunning alchemists
Could re-create the rose with all its members
From its own ashes, but without the bloom,
Without the lost perfume
Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science
Can from the ashes in our hearts once more
The rose of youth restore?
What craft of alchemy can bid defiance
To time and change, and for a single hour
Renew this phantom-flower?

Music is the universal language of mankind — poetry their universal pastime and delight.