Be Neither Saint Nor Sophist-led, But Be

With Aching Hands And Bleeding Feet We Dig And Heap, Lay Stone On Stone; We Bear The Burden And The Heat Of The Long Day, And Wish 'twere Done. Not Till The Hours Of Light Return All We Have Built Do We Discern.

If There Ever Comes A Time When The Women Of The World Come Together Purely And Simply For The Benefit Of Mankind, It Will Be A Force Such As The World Has Never Known.

And Each Day Brings It's Pretty Dust, Our Soon-choked Souls To Fll And We Forget Because We Must, And Not Because We Will.

The Heart Less Bounding At Emotion New, The Hope, Once Crushed, Less Quick To Spring Again.

Beautiful City! . . . Spreading Her Gardens To The Moonlight, And Whispering From Her Towers The Last Enchantments Of The Middle Age . . . Her Ineffable Charm. . . . Adorable Dreamer, Whose Heart Has Been So Romantic!