Boot, Saddle, To Horse, And Away!

All's Love, Yet All's Law.

That Great Brow And The Spirit-small Hand Propping It.

Wander At Will, Day After Day,-- Wander Away, Wandering Still-- Soul That Canst Soar! Body May Slumber: Body Shall Cumber Soul-flight No More.

For Thence A Paradox Which Comforts While It Mocks, - Shall Life Succeed In That It Seems To Fail: What I Aspired To Be, And Was Not, Comforts Me: A Brute I Might Have Been, But Would Not Sink I' The Scale.

The Best Way To Excape His Ire Is, Not To Seem Too Happy.