Blessed The Geniuses Who Know / That

[the] Whirlwind Fife-and-drum Of The Storm Bends The Salt Marsh Grass, Disturbs Stars In The Sky And The Star On The Steeple; It Is A Privilege To See So Much Confusion.

The Irish Say Your Trouble Is Their Trouble And Your Joy Their Joy? I Wish I Could Believe It; I Am Troubled, I'm Dissatisfied, I'm Irish.

Impatience Is The Mark Of Independence, Not Of Bondage.

Unconfusion Submits Its Confusion To Proof; It's Not A Herod's Oath That Cannot Change.

We Prove, We Do Not Explain, Our Birth.