Death Is Life's High Meed.

Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled Wards, And Seal The Hushed Casket Of My Soul.

Shed No Tear - O, Shed No Tear! The Flower Will Bloom Another Year. Weep No More - O, Weep No More! Young Buds Sleep In The Root's White Core.

But Were There Ever Any Writhed Not At Passed Joy?

Some Say The World Is A Vale Of Tears, I Say It Is A Place Of Soul-making.

The Poetry Of The Earth Is Never Dead.