A Man I Am Cross'd

Unless The Old Adage Must Be Verified, That Beggars Mounted, Run Their Horse To Death.

When I Bestride Him, I Soar, I Am A Hawk: He Trots The Air; The Earth Sings When He Touches It; The Basest Horn Of His Hoof Is More Musical Than The Pipe Of Hermes.

The Fringed Curtains Of Thine Eye Advance, And Say What Thou Seest Yond.

In Me Thou See'st The Twilight Of Such Day As After Sunset Fadeth In The West, Which By And By Black Night Doth Take Away Death's Second Self, That Seals Up All In Rest. -sonnet 73

Be Collected. No More Amazement. Tell Your Piteous Heart There's No Harm Done.