I'm A Spalding Gray In

...if Fifty Bands Of Men Surrounded Us/ And Every Sword Sang For Your Blood,/ You Could Make Off Still With Their Cows And Sheep.

The Wordy Tale, Once Told, Were Hard To Tell Again.

Each Man Delights In The Work That Suits Him Best.

Just Are The Ways Of Heaven; From Heaven Proceed The Woes Of Man: Heaven Doom'd The Greeks To Bleed.

It Is Wrong To Be Sorry Without Ceasing.