Fools, When Their Roof-tree Falls, Think It

Life Is A Sheet Of Paper White / Whereon Each One Of Us May Write / His Word Or Two, And Then Comes Night.

Dear Common Flower, That Grow'st Beside The Way, Fringing The Dusty Road With Harmless Gold, First Pledge Of Blithesome May, Which Children Pluck, And, Full Of Pride Uphold.

We Look At Death Through The Cheap-glazed Windows Of The Flesh, And Believe Him The Monster Which The Flawed And Cracked Glass Represents Him.

Great Truths Are Portions Of The Soul Of Man; Great Souls Are Portions Of Eternity.

His Heart Kep' Goin' Pity-pat, But Hern Went Pity-zekle.