Books Are Men Of Higher Stature, And

The Music Soars Within The Little Lark, And The Lark Soars.

The Soul's Rialto Hath Its Merchandise, I Barter For Curl Upon That Mart.

Many A Crown Covers Bald Foreheads.

Suddenly, As Rare Things Will, It Vanished.

Enough! We're Tired, My Heart And I. We Sit Beside The Headstone Thus, And Wish That Name Were Carved For Us. The Moss Reprints More Tenderly The Hard Types Of The Mason's Knife, As Heaven's Sweet Life Renews Earth's Life With Which We're Tired, My Heart And I .... In This Abundant Earth No Doubt Is Little Room For Things Worn Out: Disdain Them, Break Them, Throw Them By! And If Before The Days Grew Rough We Once Were Loved, Used, - Well Enough, I Think, We've Fared, My Heart And I.