Too Late For Fruit, Too Soon For

Slowly, Silently, Now The Moon Walks The Night In Her Silver Shoon.

And Some Win Peace Who Spend The Skill Of Words To Sweeten Despair Of Finding Consolation Where Life Has But One Dark End.

God Has Mercifully Ordered That The Human Brain Works Slowly; First The Blow, Hours Afterwards The Bruise.

When I Lie Where Shades Of Darkness Shall No More Assail Mine Eyes.

Tell Them I Came, And No One Answered, That I Kept My Word," He Said. Never The Least Stir Made The Listeners, Though Every Word He Spake Fell Echoing Through The Shadowiness Of The Still House From The One Man Left Awake: Ay, They Heard His Foot Upon The Stirrup, And The Sound Of Iron On Stone, And How The Silence Surged Softly Backward, When The Plunging Hoofs Were Gone.