Sad Patience, Too Near Neighbour To Despair.

Nature, With Equal Mind, Sees All Her Sons At Play, Sees Man Control The Wind, The Wind Sweep Man Away.

I Knew The Mass Of Men Conceal'd Their Thoughts, For Fear That If Reveal'd They Would By Other Men Be Met With Blank Indifference.

Sad Patience, Too Near Neighbour To Despair.

Sand-strewn Caverns, Cool And Deep, Where The Winds Are All Asleep; Where The Spent Lights Quiver And Gleam; Where The Salt Weed Sways In The Stream.

Greatness Is A Spiritual Condition.