The Past Is Gained, Secure, And On

Truth Never Hurt The Teller.

What's A Man's Age? He Must Hurry More, That's All; Cram In A Day, What His Youth Took A Year To Hold.

Autumn Wins You Best By This Its Mute Appeal To Sympathy For Its Decay.

The Body Sprang At Once To The Height, And Stayed; But The Soul,-no!

Stand Still, True Poet That You Are! I Know You; Let Me Try And Draw You. Some Night You'll Fail Us: When Afar You Rise, Remember One Man Saw You, Knew You, And Named A Star!