Fuss is the froth of business.
O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!
Comfort and indolence are cronies.
I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
And there is even a happiness That makes the heart afraid.
The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam; And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.