Light tomorrow with today!

Who so loves believes the impossible.

But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence than the strong man in his wrath!

OF writing many books there is no end; And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses, will write now for mine,- Will write my story for my better self, As when you paint your portrait for a friend, Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you, just To hold together what he was and is.

Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!

Souls are gregarious in a sense, but no soul touches another, as a general rule.

For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.