Seagulls . . . Slim Yachts Of

O That Our Souls Could Scale A Height Like This, A Mighty Mountain Swept O'er By The Bleak Keen Winds Of Heaven; And, Standing On That Peak Above The Blinding Clouds Of Prejudice, Would We Could See All Truly As It Is; The Calm Eternal Truth Would Keep Us Meek.

This Wild Swan Of A World Is No Hunter's Game.

Only The Drum Is Confident, It Thinks The World Has Not Changed

The Love Of Freedom Has Been The Quality Of Western Man.

The Cold Passion For Truth Hunts In No Pack.