What Shelter To Grow Ripe Is Ours?

Everything In Our Political Life Tends To Hide From Us That There Is Anything Wiser Than Our Ordinary Selves.

How Many Minds--almost All The Great Ones--were Formed In Secrecy And Solitude!

And Each Day Brings It's Pretty Dust, Our Soon-choked Souls To Fll And We Forget Because We Must, And Not Because We Will.

Come To Me In My Dreams, And Then By Day I Shall Be Well Again. For Then The Night Will More Than Pay The Hopeless Longing Of The Day.

This Strange Disease Of Modern Life, With Its Sick Hurry, Its Divided Aims.