The Sun To Me Is

All Seemed Well Pleased, All Seemed, But Were Not All.

What Can 'scape The Eye Of God, All-seeing, Or Deceive His Heart. Omniscient!

He Who Would Not Be Frustrate Of His Hope To Write Well Hereafter In Laudable Things Ought Himself To Be A True Poem.

Innumerable As The Stars Of Night, Or Stars Of Morning, Dewdrops Which The Sun Impearls On Every Leaf And Every Flower.

For What Is Glory But The Blaze Of Fame?