Yet How Proud We Are, In Daring

The Soul's Rialto Hath Its Merchandise, I Barter For Curl Upon That Mart.

When We First Met And Loved, I Did Not Build Upon The Event With Marble. . . .

When The Dust Of Death Has Choked A Great Man's Voice, The Common Words He Said Turn Oracles, The Common Thoughts He Yoked Like Horses Draw Like Griffins.

The Little Cares That Fretted Me, I Lost Them Yesterday Among The Fields Above The Sea, Among The Winds At Play.

Will That Light Come Again, As Now These Tears Come...falling Hot And Real!