Open Afresh Your Rounds Of

Feeling Well That Breathed Words Would All Be Lost, Unheard, And Vain As Swords Against The Enchased Crocodile, Or Leaps Of Grasshoppers Against The Sun.

Some Say The World Is A Vale Of Tears, I Say It Is A Place Of Soul-making.

But Were There Ever Any Writhed Not At Passed Joy?

Even Bees, The Little Almsmen Of Spring Bowers, Know There Is Richest Juice In Poison-flowers.

Conversation Is Not A Search After Knowledge, But An Endeavor At Effect.