The Future Comes Slowly, The Present Flies

We, We Live! Ours Are The Hours, And The Living Have Their Claims.

O Who Knows What Slumbers In The Background Of The Times?

There Is Room In The Smallest Cottage For A Happy Loving Pair.

Disappointments Are To The Soul What A Thunderstorm Is To The Air.

Soon Is The Struggle Past, And To The Earth, To The Eternal Sun, I Render Back These Atoms, Joined In Me For Pain And Pleasure.