When Great Leaves Fall, The

A Devil, A Born Devil On Whose Nature, Nurture Can Never Stick, On Whom My Pain, Humanly Taken, All Lost, Quite Lost.

Nothing Teems But Hateful Docks, Rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs, Losing Both Beauty And Utility.

We Are Ready To Try Our Fortunes To The Last Man.

Ay, But To Die, And Go We Know Not Where.

Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have All His Rites.