With What Cracked Pitchers Go

All Actual Heroes Are Essential Men, And All Men Possible Heroes.

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless; That Only Men Incredulous Of Despair, Half-taught In Anguish, Through The Midnight Air Beat Upward To God's Throne In Loud Access Of Shrieking And Reproach

God Himself Is The Best Poet, And The Real Is His Song.

Oh, The Little Birds Sang East, And The Little Birds Sang West.

We Have Hearts Within, Warm, Live, Improvident, Indecent Hearts.