Who Knows Most, Doubts Most.

Day! Faster And More Fast. O'er Night's Brim, Day Boils At Last.

Generations Pass While Some Tree Stands, And Old Families Last Not Three Oaks.

For Sudden The Worst Turns The Best To The Brave, The Black Minute's At End, And The Elements' Rage, The Fiend Voices That Rave, Shall Dwindle, Shall Blend, Shall Change, Shall Become First A Peace Out Of Pain, Then A Light, Then Thy Breast, O Thou Soul Of My Soul! I Shall Clasp Thee Again, And With God Be The Rest!

Who Hears Music Feels His Solitude Peopled At Once.

Genius Has Somewhat Of The Infantine; But Of The Childish Not A Touch Or Taint.