Fortune Befriends The Bold.

How Happy Is The Little Stone That Rambles In The Road Alone, And Doesn't Care About Careers, And Exigencies Never Fears; Whose Coat Of Elemental Brown A Passing Universe Put On; And Independent As The Sun, Associates Or Glows Alone, Fulfilling Absolute Decree In Casual Simplicity.

You Ask Of My Companions. Hills, Sir, And The Sundown, And A Dog As Large As Myself.

The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar, Ready To Welcome The Ecstatic Experience.

Presentiment Is That Long Shadow On The Lawn Indicative That Suns Go Down; The Notice To The Startled Grass That Darkness Is About To Pass.

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?