Wondrous Strong Are The Spells Of Fiction.

I Do Not Believe Anyone Can Be Perfectly Well, Who Has A Brain And A Heart

Not In The Clamor Of The Crowded Street, Not In The Shouts And Plaudits Of The Throng, But In Ourselves, Are Triumph And Defeat.

A Feeling Of Sadness And Longing, That Is Not Akin To Pain, And Resembles Sorrow Only As The Mist Resembles The Rain.

I Am The Angel Of The Sun Whose Flaming Wheels Began To Run When God's Almighty Breath Said To The Darkness And The Night, Let There Be Light! And There Was Light.

All Was Silent As Before - All Silent Save The Dripping Rain.