Life Has No Friend.

To A Young Poet Time Cannot Break The Bird's Wing From The Bird. Bird And Wing Together Go Down, One Feather. No Thing That Ever Flew, Not The Lark, Not You, Can Die As Others Do.

We Are All Ruled In What We Do By Impulses; And These Impulses Are So Organized That Our Actions In General Serve For Our Self Preservation And That Of The Race.

And Reaching Up My Hand To Try, I Screamed To Feel It Touch The Sky.

Not Poppy, Nor Mandrake, Nor All The Drowsy Syrups Of The World, Shall Ever Medicine Thee To That Sweet Sleep, Which Thou Owest Yesterday.

That Which Has Quelled Me, Lives With Me, Accomplice In Catastrophe.