Truth Never Hurt The Teller.

A Pretty Woman's Worth Some Pains To See.

God Is The Perfect Poet, Who In His Person Acts His Own Creations.

For Sudden The Worst Turns The Best To The Brave, The Black Minute's At End, And The Elements' Rage, The Fiend Voices That Rave, Shall Dwindle, Shall Blend, Shall Change, Shall Become First A Peace Out Of Pain, Then A Light, Then Thy Breast, O Thou Soul Of My Soul! I Shall Clasp Thee Again, And With God Be The Rest!

On The Earth The Broken Arcs; In The Heaven A Perfect Round.

Faultless To A Fault.