Poetry Archives

Who drives the horses of the sun
 Shall lord it but a day;
Better the lowly deed were done,
 And kept the humble way.

The rust will find the sword of fame,
 The dust will hide the crown;
Ay, none shall nail so high his name
 Time will not tear it down.

The happiest heart that ever beat
 Was in some quiet breast
That found the common daylight sweet,
 And left to Heaven the rest.