Youth Sees Too Far To See How

I Shall Have More To Say When I Am Dead.

And Thus We All Are Nighing The Truth We Fear To Know: Death Will End Our Crying For Friends That Come And Go.

I Don't Say What God Is, But A Name That Somehow Answers Us When We Are Driven To Feel And Think How Little We Have To Do With What We Are.

The Stillness Of October Gold Went Out Like Beauty From A Face.

Poets And Kings Are But The Clerks Of Time, Tiering The Same Dull Webs Of Discontent, Clipping The Same Sad Alnage Of The Years.