The Primary Imagination I Hold To Be

The Misery Of Human Life Is Made Up Of Large Masses, Each Separated From The Other By Certain Intervals. One Year The Death Of A Child; Years After, A Failure In Trade; After Another Longer Or Shorter Interval, A Daughter May Have Married Unhappily; In All But The Singularly Unfortunate, The Integral Parts That Compose The Sum-total Of The Unhappiness Of A Man's Life Are Easily Counted And Distinctly Remembered.

The Once Red Leaf, The Last Of Its Clan, That Dances As Often As Dance It Can.

O Pure Of Heart! Thou Needest Not Ask Of Me What This Strong Music In The Soul May Be!

Trochee Trips From Long To Short; From Long To Long In Solemn Sort Slow Spondee Stalks.

Greatness And Goodness Are Not Means, But Ends! Hath He Not Always Treasures, Always Friends, The Good Great Man? Three Treasures, Love And Light, And Calm Thoughts, Regular As Infants' Breath; And Three Firm Friends, More Sure Than Day And Night, Himself, His Maker, And The Angel Death.