Truth Is So Rare That It Is

Each That We Lose Takes A Part Of Us; A Crescent Still Abides, Which Like The Moon, Some Turbid Night, Is Summoned By The Tides.

The Vastest Earthly Day Is Shrunken Small By One Defaulting Face Behind A Pall.

Victory Comes Late-- And Is Held Low To Freezing Lips-- Too Rapt With Frost To Take It

I Like A Look Of Agony, Because I Know It's True - Men Do Not Sham Convulsion, Nor Simulate, A Throe

Mine Enemy Is Growing Old -- I Have At Last Revenge -- The Palate Of The Hate Departs -- If Any Would Avenge Let Him Be Quick -- The Viand Flits -- It Is A Faded Meat -- Anger As Soon As Fed Is Dead -- 'tis Starving Makes It Fat