Truth Never Hurts The Teller.

I Judge People By What They Might Be, - Not Are, Nor Will Be.

Lost, Lost! One Moment Knelled The Woe Of Years.

Thou Art My Single Day, God Lends To Leaven What Were All Earth Else, With A Feel Of Heaven.

Mid The Sharp, Short Emerald Wheat, Scarce Risen Three Fingers Well, The Wild Tulip At The End Of Its Tube, Blows Out Its Great Red Bell, Like A Thin Clear Bubble Of Blood, For The Children To Pick And Sell.

All's Love, Yet All's Law.