I Love Not Man The Less, But

They Truly Mourn, That Mourn Without A Witness.

Perhaps The Early Grave Which Men Weep Over May Be Meant To Save.

For What Were All These Country Patriots Born? To Hunt, And Vote, And Raise The Price Of Corn?

Are Not The Mountains, Waves, And Skies As Much A Part Of Me, As I Of Them?

We Are All The Fools Of Time And Terror: Days Steal On Us And Steal From Us; Yet We Live, Loathing Our Life, And Dreading Still To Die.