Wall Must Get The Weather Stain Before

The Soul's Rialto Hath Its Merchandise, I Barter For Curl Upon That Mart.

Souls Are Dangerous Things To Carry Straight Through All The Spilt Saltpetre Of This World.

With Stammering Lips And Insufficient Sound I Strive And Struggle To Deliver Right The Music Of My Nature.

Let Us Be Content To Work To Do The Things We Can, And Not Presume To Fret Because It's Little.

O Brave Poets, Keep Back Nothing; Nor Mix Falsehood With The Whole! Look Up Godward! Speak The Truth In Worthy Song From Earnest Soul! Hold, In High Poetic Duty, Truest Truth The Fairest Beauty.