Tis Looking Downward Makes One Dizzy.

Only I Discern Infinite Passion, And The Pain Of Finite Hearts That Yearn.

A Minute's Success Pays The Failure Of Years.

Day! Faster And More Fast. O'er Night's Brim, Day Boils At Last.

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.

A Man In Armour Is His Armour's Slave.