We Weep When We Are Born, Not

The Ring Of A False Coin Is Not More Recognizable Than That Of A Rhyme Setting Forth A False Sorrow.

Turn On Its Noiseless Hinges, Delicate Sleep!

Civilization Is The Lamb's Skin In Which Barbarism Masquerades.

After A Debauch Of Thunder-shower, The Weather Takes The Pledge And Signs It With A Rainbow.

O Liberty, White Goddess! Is It Well To Leave The Gates Unguarded? On Thy Breast Fold Sorrow's Children, Soothe The Hurts Of Fate, Lift The Down-trodden, But With Hand Of Steel Stay Those Who To Thy Sacred Portals Come To Waste The Gifts Of Freedom.