Some People Always Sigh In

There's Nothing Great Nor Small, Has Said A Poet Of Our Day, Whose Voice Will Ring Beyond The Curfew Of Eve And Not Be Thrown Out By The Matin's Bell.

Nor Myrtle--which Means Chiefly Love: And Love Is Something Awful Which One Dare Not Touch So Early O' Mornings.

And I Smiled To Think God's Greatness Flowed Around Our Incompleteness; Round Our Restlessness, His Rest.

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose Fire-hearts Sowed Our Furrows When The World Was Worthy Of Such Men.

Knowledge By Suffering Entereth, And Life Is Perfected By Death.