There Is No Heroic Poem In The

Once Turn To Practice, Error And Truth Will No Longer Consort Together.

Youth Is To All The Glad Season Of Life; But Often Only By What It Hopes, Not By What It Attains, Or What It Escapes.

Clean Undeniable Right, Clear Undeniable Might: Either Of These Once Ascertained Puts An End To Battle. All Battle Is A Confused Experiment To Ascertain One And Both Of These.

A Star Is Beautiful; It Affords Pleasure, Not From What It Is To Do, Or To Give, But Simply By Being What It Is. It Befits The Heavens; It Has Congruity With The Mighty Space In Which It Dwells. It Has Repose; No Force Disturbs Its Eternal Peace. It Has Freedom; No Obstruction Lies Between It And Infinity.

No Ghost Was Every Seen By Two Pair Of Eyes.