That Love For One, From Which There

Whatever You May Be Sure Of, Be Sure Of This, That You Are Dreadfully Like Other People.

I Love Her With A Love As Still As A Broad River's Peaceful Might, Which By High Tower And Lowly Mill, Goes Wandering At Its Own Will, And Yet Does Ever Flow Aright.

The Stiff Rails Were Softened To Swan's-down, And Still Fluttered Down The Snow.

The Time Is Ripe, And Rotten-ripe, For Change... [truth's] Mirror Is Turned Forward, To Reflect The Promise Of The Future, Not The Past.

One Thorn Of Experience Is Worth A Whole Wilderness Of Warning.