How Gently Rock Yon Poplars

Tears Are The Showers That Fertilize This World.

I Don't Want To Die. But I Want To Be Dead.

The Moon Is Bleached As White As Wool, And Just Dropping Under; Every Star Is Gone But Three, And They Hang Far Asunder,-- There's A Sea-ghost All In Gray, A Tall Shape Of Wonder!

Youth! Youth! How Buoyant Are Thy Hopes! They Turn, Like Marigolds, Toward The Sunny Side.

Reign, And Keep Life In This Our Deep Desireour Only Greatness Is That We Aspire.