Truth Never Hurts The Teller.

Only I Discern Infinite Passion, And The Pain Of Finite Hearts That Yearn.

Autumn Wins You Best By This Its Mute Appeal To Sympathy For Its Decay.

Boot, Saddle, To Horse, And Away!

I Know What I Want And What I Might Gain, And Yet, How Profitless To Know.

Was There Nought Better Than To Enjoy? No Feat Which, Done, Would Make Time Break, And Let Us Pent-up Creatures Through Into Eternity, Our Due? No Forcing Earth Teach Heaven's Employ?