Yes, Child Of Suffering, Thou May'st Well

We Call Those Poets Who Are First To Mark, Through Earth's Dull Mist The Coming Of The Dawn, Who See In Twilight's Gloom The First Pale Spark, While Others Only Note That Day Is Gone.

Even A Dog Knows The Difference Between Being Kicked And Being Stumbled Over.

It Is The Province Of Knowledge To Speak, And It Is The Privilege Of Wisdom To Listen.

Youth Fades, Love Droops, The Leaves Of Friendship Fall; A Mother's Secret Hope Outlives Them All.

When I Think Of Talking, It Is Of Course With A Woman. For Talking At Its Best Being An Inspiration, It Wants A Corresponding Divine Quality Of Receptiveness, And Where Will You Find This But In A Woman?