Mind Is A Light Which

What Shelter To Grow Ripe Is Ours? What Leisure To Grow Wise?

Weep Bitterly Over The Dead, For He Is Worthy, And Then Comfort Thyself; Drive Heaviness Away: Thou Shall Not Do Him Good, But Hurt Thyself.

Resolve To Be Thyself: And Know That He Who Finds Himself, Loses His Misery.

Truth Sits Upon The Lips Of Dying Men, And Falsehood, While I Lived, Was Far From Mine.

Our Society Distributes Itself Into Barbarians, Philistines And Populace; And America Is Just Ourselves With The Barbarians Quite Left Out, And The Populace Nearly.