He contendeth not with the noble; he lingereth no long space
In bringing a work to fulfilment;—for Opportunity stays
By a man but a fleeting moment: well is it marked of him still
How it waiteth on him as a helper, not as the slave of his will.
Of all gifts this is the saddest, to know what is best for man,
And yet that Fate the tyrant thy winning thereto should ban.
Ay, Atlas still stands straining beneath heaven’s crushing load,
From all his possessions exiled, from his ancestral abode.
Yet by Zeus ever-living the Titans were unchained; and as on time fleets,
With the lulling and veering of breezes may the shipmen shift the sheets.