Daughters of Zeus, you know what man's life is,
How brief, and yet how long the while—
Its epics, falls of sparrows; its tragedies
Half farces and half vile;
How every hero's sword at last grows brittle,
How his dream fades, and night comes in a little—
And you smile.
All else turns vanity: but yours the day
Of little things, that grow not less.
Our moments fly—enough if on their way
You lent them loveliness.
Alone of gods, you lie not; yours no Heaven
That totters in the clouds—what you have given,
We possess.
—Lord Chesterfield