Do You Hear The Children Singing?

Friends: People Who Borrow My Books And Set Wet Glasses On Them.

Do You Hear The Children Singing?

For Through It All--above, Beyond It All-- I Know The Far-sent Message Of The Years, I Feel The Coming Glory Of The Light.

No Matter What We Are, And What We Sing, Time Finds A Withered Leaf In Every Laurel

Poets And Kings Are But The Clerks Of Time, Tiering The Same Dull Webs Of Discontent, Clipping The Same Sad Alnage Of The Years.