A Poet Must Need Be

With Every Anguish Of Our Earthly Part The Spirit's Sight Grows Clearer.

To Be Young Is Surely The Best, If The Most Precarious, Gift Of Life.

It Is The Privilege Of Genius That Life Never Grows Common Place, As It Does For The Rest Of Us.

They Talk About Their Pilgrim Blood, Their Birthright High And Holy! A Mountain-stream That Ends In Mud Thinks Is Melancholy.

Fools, When Their Roof-tree Falls, Think It Doomsday.