It Is Always The Season For The

Hungry Wailing Standeth Not Aloof.

For Not Many Men, The Proverb Saith, Can Love A Friend Whom Fortune Prospereth Unenvying.

The Moving Light, Rejoicing In Its Strength, Sped From The Pyre Of Pine, And Urged Its Way, In Golden Glory, Like Some Strange New Sun.

For It Would Be Better To Die Once And For All Than To Suffer Pain For All One's Life.

Few Men Have The Natural Strength To Honor A Friend's Success Without Envy.