Slight was the thing I bought, small was the debt I thought, Poor was the loan at best - God! but the interest!

Washington is the city where the big men of little towns come to be disillusioned

The age is materialistic. Verse isn't. I must be with the age, so I am writing prose.

We reduce the deity to vulgar fractions. We place our own little ambitions and label them ?divine messages?. With our short sight we affect to take a comprehensive view of eternity.

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,- When he beats his bars and would be free; It is not a carol of joy or glee, But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core, But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings- I know why the caged bird sings!

Only the rich are lonesome.

But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core.