The World Stands Out On Either Side,

Life Must Go On, Though Good Men Die.

When We Are Old And These Rejoicing Veins Are Frosty Channels To A Muted Stream, And Out Of All Our Burning There Remains No Feeblest Spark To Fire Us, Even In Dream, This Be Our Solace: That It Was Not Said When We Were Young And Warm And In Our Prime, Upon Our Couch We Lay As Lie The Dead, Sleeping Away The Unreturning Time.

Sorrow Like A Ceaseless Rain Beats Upon My Heart. People Twist And Scream In Pain-- Dawn Will Find Them Still Again; This Has Neither Wax Nor Wane, Neither Stop Nor Start.

He That Would Eat Of Love Must Eat It Where It Hangs.

And He Whose Soul Is Flat -- The Sky Will Cave In On Him By And By.