by Percy Bysshe Shelley
To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;
To defy Power, which seems omnipotent;
To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates;
Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be
Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory.