I Hope To Leave Behind

Nobody Was Ever Meant, To Remember Or Invent, What He Did With Every Cent.

There Never Was Any Heart Truly Great And Generous, That Was Not Also Tender And Compassionate.

Before Now Poetry Has Taken Notice Of Wars, And What Are Wars But Politics Transformed From Chronic To Acute And Bloody?

The Afternoon Knows What The Morning Never Suspected.

I Do Not See Why I Should E’er Turn Back, Or Those Should Not Set Forth Upon My Track To Overtake Me, Who Should Miss Me Here And Long To Know If Still I Held Them Dear. They Would Not Find Me Changed From Him They Knew — Only More Sure Of All I Thought Was True.