The Appetite For Silence Is Seldom An

A Dominie In Gray-- Put Gently Up The Evening Bars-- And Led The Flock Away

Truth - Is As Old As God-.

The Soul Selects Her Own Society, Then Shuts The Door; On Her Divine Majority Obtrude No More.

Dare You See A Soul At The White Heat?

Mirth Is The Mail Of Anguish --