O How Feeble Is Man's

I Am A Little World Made Cunningly.

Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things, Doth Work Upon Itself, With Inborn Stings.

To Be No Part Of Any Body, Is To Be Nothing.

Commemoration Of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator Of The Scriptures, 1922 A Memory Of Yesterday's Pleasures, A Fear Of Tomorrow's Dangers, A Straw Under My Knees, A Noise In My Ear, A Light In My Eye, An Anything, A Nothing, A Fancy, A Chimera In My Brain, Troubles Me In My Prayers.

And Swear No Where Lives A Woman True, And Fair.