All Actual Heroes Are Essential Men, And

That Headlong Ivy! Not A Leaf Will Grow But Thinking Of A Wreath, . . . I Like Such Ivy; Bold To Leap A Height 'twas Strong To Climb! As Good To Grow On Graves As Twist About A Thyrsus; Pretty Too (and That's Not Ill) When Twisted Round A Comb.

But So Fair, She Takes The Breath Of Men Away Who Gaze Upon Her Unaware.

I Cannot Speak In Happy Tones; The Tear Drops On My Cheek Show I Am Sad; But I Can Speak Of Grace To Suffer With Submission Meek, Until Made Glad.

Too Much Beauty, I Reckon, Is Nothing But Too Much Sun.

And I Must Bear What Is Ordained With Patience, Being Aware Necessity Doth Front The Universe With An Invincible Gesture.