Thoughts Are Tyrants That Return Again And

I'm Wearying To Escape Into That Glorious World, And To Be Always There; Not Seeing It Dimly Through Tears, And Yearning For It Through The Walls Of An Aching Heart; But Really With It, And In It.

The Night Is Darkening Round Me, The Wild Winds Coldly Blow; But A Tyrant Spell Has Bound Me And I Cannot, Cannot Go. The Giant Trees Are Bending Their Bare Boughs Weighed With Snow; The Storm Is Fast Descending, And Yet I Cannot Go. Clouds Beyond Clouds Above Me, Wastes Beyond Wastes Below; But Nothing Drear Can Move Me; I Will Not, Cannot Go.

A Person Who Has Not Done One Half His Day's Work By Ten O Clock, Runs A Chance Of Leaving The Other Half Undone.

Still Let My Tyrants Know, I Am Not Doomed To Wear Year After Year In Gloom, And Desolate Despair; A Messenger Of Hope Comes Every Night To Me, And Offers For Short Life, Eternal Liberty.

You're Hard To Please: So Many Friends And So Few Cares, And Can't Make Yourself Content.