The Bloom Is Gone, And With The

Tis Not To See The World As From A Height, With Rapt Prophetic Eyes, And Heart Profoundly Stirred; And Weep, And Feel The Fullness Of The Past, The Years That Are Not More.

Still Bent To Make Some Port He Knows Not Where, Still Standing For Some False Impossible Shore.

Who Hesitate And Falter Life Away, And Lose Tomorrow The Ground Won Today.

If One Were Searching For The Best Means To Efface And Kill In A Whole Nation The Discipline Of Self-respect, The Feeling For What Is Elevated, He Could Do No Better Than Take The American Newspapers.

Cruel, But Composed And Bland, Dumb, Inscrutable And Grand, So Tiberius Might Have Sat, Had Tiberius Been A Cat.