All Great Poets Have Been Men Of

The Linden, In The Fervors Of July, Hums With A Louder Concert. When The Wind Sweeps The Broad Forest In Its Summer Prime, As When Some Master-hand Exulting Sweeps The Keys Of Some Great Organ, Ye Give Forth The Music Of The Woodland Depths, A Hymn Of Gladness And Of Thanks.

Difficulty, My Brethren, Is The Nurse Of Greatness - A Harsh Nurse, Who Roughly Rocks Her Foster Children Into Strength And Athletic Proportion.

Pain Dies Quickly, And Lets Her Weary Prisoners Go; The Fiercest Agonies Have Shortest Reign.

Earth, That Nourished Thee, Shall Claim Thy Growth, To Be Resolved To Earth Again, And, Lost Each Human Trace, Surrendering Up Thine Individual Being, Shalt Thou Go To Mix Forever With The Elements, To Be A Brother To The Insensible Rock And To The Sluggish Clod, Which The Rude Swain Turns With His Share, And Treads Upon. The Oak Shall Send His Roots Abroad, And Pierce Thy Mold.

God Hath Yoked To Guilt Her Pale Tormentor,--misery.