Initial Of Creation, And The Exponent Of

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die. Beauty, Mercy Have On Me! Yet If I Expire To-day Let It Be In Sight Of Thee!

To Fight Aloud Is Very Brave, But Gallanter, I Know, Who Charge Within The Bosom, The Cavalry Of Woe.

When I State Myself, As The Representative Of The Verse, It Does Not Mean Me, But A Supposed Person.

How Very Sad It Is To Have A Confiding Nature, One's Hopes And Feelings Are Quite At The Mercy Of All Who Come Along; And How Very Desirable To Be A Stolid Individual, Whose Hopes And Aspirations Are Safe In One's Waistcoat Pocket, And That A Pocket Indeed, And One Not To Be Picked!

To Fight Aloud, Is Very Brave— But Gallanter, I Know Who Charge Within The Bosom The Cavalry Of Wo— Who Win, And Nations Do Not See— Who Fall — And None Observe — Whose Dying Eyes, No Country Regards With Patriot Love— We Trust, In Plumed Procession For Such, The Angels Go— Rank After Rank, With Even Feet— And Uniforms Of Snow.