If We Must Die, O Let Us

The Shivering Birds Beneath The Eaves Have Sheltered For The Night.

Deep In The Secret Chambers Of My Heart I Muse My Life-long Hate, And Without Flinch I Bear It Nobly As I Live My Part.

I Have Forgotten Much, But Still Remember The Poinsiana's Red, Blood-red In Warm December.

Human Dignity Is More Precious Than Prestige.

Adventure-seasoned And Storm-buffeted, I Shun All Signs Of Anchorage, Because The Zest Of Life Exceeds The Bound Of Laws.