Language That Tells Us, Through A More

Do You Hear The Children Singing?

Poets And Kings Are But The Clerks Of Time, Tiering The Same Dull Webs Of Discontent, Clipping The Same Sad Alnage Of The Years.

Shake The Tree Of Life Itself And Bring Down Fruits Unheard Of.

Youth Sees Too Far To See How Near It Is To Seeing Farther.

Pity Is Like A Knife, Sometimes, And It May Pierce One Who Employs It More Shrewdly Than The Victim It Would Save.