Modern Poets Add A Lot Of Water

And Here, Poor Fool, With All My Lore I Stand No Wiser Than Before.

I Bid The Chords Sweet Music Make, And All Must Follow In My Wake.

Do Not, I Beg You, Look For Anything Behind Phenomena. They Are Themselves Their Own Lesson.

On Top Of The World, Or In The Depths Of Despair.

Democracy Does Not Race, It Reaches The Finish Slowly But Surely.