One Thought Of Thee Puts

Lo, What Huge Heaps Of Littleness Around!

No Craving Void Left Aching In The Soul.

Then, At The Last And Only Couplet Fraught With Some Unmeaning Thing They Call A Thought, A Needless Alexandrine Ends The Song, That, Like A Wounded Snake, Drags Its Slow Length Along.

Party-spirit At Best Is But The Madness Of Many For The Gain Of A Few.

And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.