There's Little Comfort In The Wise

They Say That The Dead Die Not, But Remain Near To The Rich Heirs Of Their Grief And Mirth. I Think They Ride The Calm Mid-heaven, As These, In Wise Majestic Melancholy Train, And Watch The Moon, And The Still-raging Seas, And Men, Coming And Going On The Earth.

Cities, Like Cats, Will Reveal Themselves At Night.

Fish Say, They Have Their Stream And Pond; But Is There Anything Beyond?

War Knows No Power. Safe Shall Be My Going, Secretly Armed Against All Death's Endeavour; Safe Though All Safety's Lost; Safe Where Men Fall; And If These Poor Limbs Die, Safest Of All.

I Thought When Love For You Died, I Should Die. It's Dead. Alone, Most Strangely, I Live On.