To Show An Unfelt Sorrow Is An

It Is Not Enough To Speak, But To Speak Truee

From Camp To Camp, Through The Foul Womb Of Night, The Hum Of Either Army Stilly Sounds, That The Fixed Sentinels Almost Receive The Secret Whispers Of Each Other's Watch. Fire Answers Fire, And Through Their Play Flames Each Battle Sees The Other's Umbered Face. Steed Threatens Steed, In High And Boastful Neighs Piercing The Night's Dull Ear; And From The Tents The Armorers Accomplishing The Knights, With Busy Hammers Closing Rivets Up, Give Dreadful Note Of Preparation.

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?

Awake, Dear Heart, Awake. Thou Hast Slept Well. Awake.

Coward Dogs Most Spend Their Mouths When What They Seem To Threaten Runs Far Before Them.