When A Tongue Fails To Send Forth

Delay Not To Seize The Hour!

For In Pure Maidens, Knowing Not The Marriage-bed, The Glance Of The Eyes Sinks From Shame.

The Moving Light, Rejoicing In Its Strength, Sped From The Pyre Of Pine, And Urged Its Way, In Golden Glory, Like Some Strange New Sun.

Base Men Who Prosper Are Unenviable.

The Reward Of Pain Is Experience.