The Sun To Me Is Dark And

He That Hath Light Within Their Own Breast, May Sit In The Centre And Enjoy Bright Day.

Danger Will Wink On Opportunity.

Yet Once More, O Ye Laurels, And Once More Ye Myrtles Brown, With Ivy Never Sere, I Come To Pluck Your Berries Harsh And Crude, And With Forced Fingers Rude Shatter Your Leaves Before The Mellowing Year.

And Out Of Good Still To Find Means Of Evil.

Never Can True Reconcilement Grow Where Wounds Of Deadly Hate Have Pierced So Deep.