Man's Actions Are The Picture Book Of

Men Consort In Camp And Town But The Poet Dwells Alone.

Pines A Thousand Years Old. Every Year They Must Go Farther For Them: They Recede, Like Beavers And Indians, Before The White Man.

None Of Us Will Ever Accomplish Anything Excellent Or Commanding Except When He Listens To This Whisper Which Is Heard By Him Alone.

Whence, Then, This Worship Of The Past? The Centuries Are Conspirators Against The Sanity And Authority Of The Soul.

Progress Is The Activity Of Today And The Assurance Of Tomorrow