O World, I Cannot Hold Thee Close

This Have I Known Always: Love Is No More Than The Wide Blossom Which The Wind Assails, Than The Great Tide That Treads The Shifting Shore, Strewing Fresh Wreckage Gathered In The Gales; Pity Me That The Heart Is Slow To Learn, That The Swift Mind Beholds At Every Turn.

My Candle Burns At Both Ends

Lord I Do Fear / Thou'st Made The World Too Beautiful This Year.

Let Geese Gabble And Hiss, But Heroes Seek Release From Dusty Bondage Into Luminous Air.

We Are All Ruled In What We Do By Impulses; And These Impulses Are So Organized That Our Actions In General Serve For Our Self Preservation And That Of The Race.