A Fair Request Should Be

To Run Over Better Waters The Little Vessel Of My Genius Now Hoists Her Sails, As She Leaves Behind Her A Sea So Cruel.

When I Had Journeyed Half Of Our Life's Way, I Found Myself Within A Shadowed Forest, For I Had Lost The Path That Does Not Stray.

The Customs And Fashions Of Men Change Like Leaves On The Bough, Some Of Which Go And Others Come.

This Sorrow Weighs Upon The Melancholy Souls Of Those Who Lived Without Infamy Or Praise.

If A Thief Helps A Poor Man Out Of The Spoils Of His Thieving, We Must Not Call That Charity.