Conscience Is A Thousand Swords.

Past All Shame, So Past All Truth.

Though Yet Of Hamlet Our Dear Brother's Death The Memory Be Green.

Even Through The Hollow Eyes Of Death I Spy Life Peering.

I Know A Place Where The Wild Thyme Blows, Where Oxlips And The Nodding Violet Grows.

The End Crowns All, And That Old Common Arbitrator, Time, Will One Day End It.