Stain My Eyes As I

O Winter! Frozen Pulse And Heart Of Fire, What Loss Is Theirs Who From Thy Kingdom Turn Dismayed, And Think Thy Snow A Sculptured Urn Of Death! Far Sooner In Midsummer Tire The Streams Than Under Ice. June Could Not Hire Her Roses To Forego The Strength They Learn In Sleeping On Thy Breast.

O Proudly Name Their Names Who Bravely Sail| To Seek Brave Lost In Arctic Snows And Seas!

Now And Then One Sees A Face Which Has Kept Its Smile Pure And Undefiled. Such A Smile Transfigures; Such A Smile, If The Artful But Know It, Is The Greatest Weapon A Face Can Have.

Bee To The Blossom, Moth To The Flame; Each To His Passion; What's In A Name?

Nothing Can Be So Bad As To Be Displeased With One's Self.