Truth Never Hurts The Teller.

We Shall March Prospering,-not Thro' His Presence; Songs May Inspirit Us,-not From His Lyre; Deeds Will Be Done,-while He Boasts His Quiescence, Still Bidding Crouch Whom The Rest Bade Aspire.

I Count Life Just A Stuff To Try The Soul's Strength On.

And Let Them Pass, As They Will Too Soon, With The Bean-flowers' Boon, And The Blackbird's Tune, And May, And June!

Oh, The Little More, And How Much It Is! And The Little Less, And What Worlds Away.

Who Knows Most, Doubts Most; Entertaining Hope Means Recognizing Fear.