My Sun Sets To Rise Again.

Needs There Groan A World In Anguish Just To Teach Us Sympathy?

For Thence A Paradox Which Comforts While It Mocks, - Shall Life Succeed In That It Seems To Fail: What I Aspired To Be, And Was Not, Comforts Me: A Brute I Might Have Been, But Would Not Sink I' The Scale.

Praise Is Deeper Than The Lips

They Are Perfect; How Else?-they Shall Never Change: We Are Faulty; Why Not?-we Have Time In Store.

But How Carve Way I' The Life That Lies Before, If Bent On Groaning Ever For The Past?