White In The Moon The Long Road

Nature, Not Content With Denying Him The Ability To Think, Has Endowed Him With The Ability To Write.

June Suns, You Cannot Store Them To Warm The Winter's Cold, The Lad That Hopes For Heaven Shall Fill His Mouth With Mould.

You Smile Upon Your Friend To-day, To-day His Ills Are Over; You Hearken To The Lover's Say, And Happy Is The Lover. 'tis Late To Hearken, Late To Smile, But Better Late Than Never: I Shall Have Lived A Little While Before I Die For Ever.

His Folly Has Not Fellow Beneath The Blue Of Day That Gives To Man Or Woman His Heart And Soul Away.

Wanderers Eastward, Wanderers West, Know You Why You Cannot Rest? 'tis That Every Mother's Son Travails With A Skeleton. Lie Down In The Bed Of Dust; Bear The Fruit That Bear You Must; Bring The Eternal Seed To Light, And Morn Is All The Same As Night.