Oh, No Man Knows Through

When I Lie Where Shades Of Darkness Shall No More Assail Mine Eyes.

Poor Tired Tim! It's Sad For Him He Lags The Long Bright Morning Through, Ever So Tired Of Nothing To Do.

What A Haunting, Inescapable Riddle Life Was.

What Lovely Things Thy Hand Hath Made.

A Face Peered. All The Grey Night In Chaos Of Vacancy Shone; Nought But Vast Sorrow Was There The Sweet Cheat Gone.