The Mortal Sickness Of A Mind Too

Therefore, Since The World Has Still Much Good, But Much Less Good Than Ill, And While The Sun And Moon Endure Luck's A Chance, But Trouble's Sure, I'd Face It As A Wise Man Would, And Train For Ill And Not For Good.

There, Like The Wind Through Woods In Riot, Through Him The Gale Of Life Blew High; The Tree Of Man Was Never Quiet: Then 'twas The Roman, Now 'tis I.

With Rue My Heart Is Laden For Golden Friends I Had, For Many A Rose-lipped Maiden And Many A Lightfoot Lad.

Luck's A Chance, But Trouble's Sure.

Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now Is Hung With Bloom Along The Bough.