He Hath Awakened From The Dream Of

Ah, Woe Is Me! Winter Is Come And Gone. But Grief Returns With The Revolving Year.

Fame, Power, And Gold, Are Loved For Their Own Sakes - Are Worshipped With A Blind, Habitual Idolatry.

There Is A Harmony In Autumn, And A Luster In Its Sky...

The Encomium Of One Incapable Of Flattery Is Indeed Flattering.

To Hope Till Hope Creates From Its Own Wreck The Thing It Contemplates.