My Faith In The People

Go Ye, Who Rest So Placidly Upon The Sacred Bard Who Had Been Young, And When He Strung His Harp Was Old, And Had Never Seen The Righteous Forsaken, Or His Seed Begging Their Bread; Go, Teachers Of Content And Honest Pride, Into The Mine, The Mill, The Forge, The Squalid Depths Of Deepest Ignorance, And Uttermost Abyss Of Man's Neglect, And Say Can Any Hopeful Plant Spring Up In Air So Foul That It Extinguishes The Soul's Bright Torch As Fast As It Is Kindled!

You Touch Some Of The Reasons For My Going, Not For My Staying Away.

What An Immense Impression Paris Made Upon Me. It Is The Most Extraordinary Place In The World!

But, For All That, They Had A Very Pleasant Walk. The Trees Were Bare Of Leaves, And The River Was Bare Of Water-lilies; But The Sky Was Not Bare Of Its Beautiful Blue, And The Water Reflected It, And A Delicious Wind Ran With The Stream, Touching The Surface Crisply.

Never, Never, Before Heaven, Have I Thought Of You But As The Single, Bright, Pure, Blessed Recollection Of My Boyhood And My Youth. Never Have I From The First, And Never Shall I To The Last, Regard Your Part In My Life, But As Something Sacred, Never To Be Lightly Thought Of, Never To Be Esteemed Enough, Never, Until Death, To Be Forgotten.