The Man Who Has No Mind Of

Ah, What A Dusty Answer Gets The Soul When Hot For Certainties In This Our Life! - In Tragic Hints Here See What Evermore Moves Dark As Yonder Midnight Ocean's Force, Thundering Like Ramping Hosts Of Warrior Horse, To Throw That Faint Thin Fine Upon The Shore!

Jealousy Is Love Bed Of Burning Snarl.

My Religion Of Life Is Always To Be Cheerful.

Sunrays, Leaning On Our Southern Hills And Lighting Wild Cloud-mountains That Drag The Hills Along, Oft Ends The Day Of Your Shifting Brilliant Laughter Chill As A Dull Face Frowning On A Song. Ay, But Shows The South-west A Ripple-feathered Bosom Blown To Silver While The Clouds Are Shaken And Ascend Scaling The Mid-heavens As They Stream, There Comes A Sunset Rich, Deep Like Love In Beauty Without End.

Days, When The Ball Of Our Vision Had Eagles That Flew Unabashed To Sun; When The Graps On The Bow Was Decision, And Arrow And Hand And Eye Were One; When The Pleasures, Like Waves To A Swimmer, Came Heaving For Rapture Ahead! - Invoke Them, They Dwindle, They Glimmer As Lights Over Mounds Of The Dead.