The Future You Shall Know When It

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.

But I Will Place This Carefully Fed Pig Within The Crackling Oven; And, I Pray, What Nicer Dish Can E'er Be Given To Man.

From A Small Seed A Mighty Trunk May Grow.

We Must Pronounce Him Fortunate Who Has Ended His Life In Fair Prosperity.

The Seed Of Mortals Broods O'er Passing Things, And Hath Nought Surer Than The Smoke-cloud's Shadow.