Great expectations are not always met,
And long sought dreams are often hard to fill.
One cannot judge the world by what we get
Nor find that sure success the mind would will.
For always all the work and all the sweat
Are subject to some rudimentary fate.
Our appetite is all we chance to whet,
And brief success goes forfeit for a mate. Like love our hope's a dreamy kind delight.
Far out of season are the wants of man,
And not for lack of reason does his plan
Go waste, nor lack of soil, lack of light.
Thus all the solitary egotism
Can never hope to heal the inner schism.
Jay Cohen