I Hide My Grief, Just

Myself When Young Did Eagerly Frequent Doctor And Saint, And Heard Great Argument About It And About: But Evermore Came Out By The Same Door As In I Went.

Oh, The Brave Music Of A Distant Drum!

Living Life Tomorrow's Fate, Though Thou Be Wise, Thou Canst Not Tell Nor Yet Surmise; Pass, Therefore, Not Today In Vain, For It Will Never Come Again.

We Are In Truth But Pieces On This Chess Board Of Life, Which In The End We Leave, Only To Drop One By One Into The Grave Of Nothingness.

The Grape That Can With Logic Absolute The Two-and-seventy Jarring Sects Confute: The Sovereign Alchemist That In A Trice Life's Leaden Metal Into Gold Transmute.