In Tragic Life, God Wot,

Days, When The Ball Of Our Vision Had Eagles That Flew Unabashed To Sun; When The Graps On The Bow Was Decision, And Arrow And Hand And Eye Were One; When The Pleasures, Like Waves To A Swimmer, Came Heaving For Rapture Ahead! - Invoke Them, They Dwindle, They Glimmer As Lights Over Mounds Of The Dead.

How Many A Thing Which We Cast To The Ground, When Others Pick It Up, Becomes A Gem!

We Never Know What's In Us Till We Stand By Ourselves.

Ah, What A Dusty Answer Gets The Soul When Hot For Certainties In This Our Life! - In Tragic Hints Here See What Evermore Moves Dark As Yonder Midnight Ocean's Force, Thundering Like Ramping Hosts Of Warrior Horse, To Throw That Faint Thin Fine Upon The Shore!

Perfect Simplicity Is Unconsciously Audacious.