We Are Betrayed By What Is False

Lowly, With A Broken Neck, The Crocus Lays Her Cheek To Mire.

I Know Him, February's Thrush, And Loud At Eve He Valentines On Sprays That Paw The Naked Bush Where Soon Will Sprout The Thorns And Bines.

The Man Or Country That Fights Priestcraft And Priests Is To My Mind Striking Deeper For Freedom Than Can Be Struck Anywhere.

Around The Ancient Track Marched, Rank On Rank, The Army Of Unalterable Law.

The Future Not Being Born, My Friend, We Will Abstain From Baptizing It.