The woman is so hard Upon the woman.

By blood a king, in heart a clown.

And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech.

Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.

That which we are, we are.

Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.

A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.