My Heart Like Moon-charmed Waters, All Unrest.

We Are Never Happy; We Can Only Remember That We Were So Once.

Yet Through All, We Know This Tangled Skein Is In The Hands Of One, Who Sees The End From The Beginning: He Shall Unravel All.

Men Praise Poverty, As The African Worships Mumbo Jumbo--from Terror Of The Malign Power, And A Desire To Propitiate At.

Sweet April's Tears, Dead On The Hem Of May.

There Is A Certain Even-handed Justice In Time; And For What He Takes Away He Gives Us Something In Return. He Robs Us Of Elasticity Of Limb And Spirit, And In Its Place He Brings Tranquility And Repose—the Mild Autumnal Weather Of The Soul.