The Future Not Being Born, My Friend,

Days, When The Ball Of Our Vision Had Eagles That Flew Unabashed To Sun; When The Graps On The Bow Was Decision, And Arrow And Hand And Eye Were One; When The Pleasures, Like Waves To A Swimmer, Came Heaving For Rapture Ahead! - Invoke Them, They Dwindle, They Glimmer As Lights Over Mounds Of The Dead.

When I Was Quite A Boy I Had A Spasm Of Religion Which Lasted Six Weeks... But I Never Since Have Swallowed The Christian Fable.

O Have A Care Of Natures That Are Mute!

The Future Not Being Born, My Friend, We Will Abstain From Baptizing It.

Prepare, You Lovers, To Know Love A Thing Of Moods: Not Like Hard Life, Of Laws.