The Sea Complains Upon A

There Is Nothing Good In This World Which Time Does Not Improve.

Everything Is Sweetened By Risk.

Sweet April's Tears, Dead On The Hem Of May.

The World Is Not So Much In Need Of New Thoughts As That When Thought Grows Old And Worn With Usage It Should, Like Current Coin, Be Called In, And, From The Mint Of Genius, Reissued Fresh And New.

The Dead Keep Their Secrets, And In A While We Shall Be As Wise As They - And As Taciturn.