The time is ripe, and rotten-ripe, for change... [Truth's] mirror is turned forward, to reflect The promise of the future, not the past.

The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.

Through aisles of long-drawn centuries my spirit walks in thought.

Year by year, more and more of the world gets disenchanted. Even the icy privacy of the arctic and antarctic circles is invaded. We have played Jack Horner with our earth, till there is never a plum left in it.

Over our manhood bend the skies; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies; With our faint hearts the mountain strives, Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite And to our age’s drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.

His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity-Zekle.

Idleness induces caprice.