And Lips Say “god Be Pitiful,” Who

Sleep On, Baby, On The Floor, Tired Of All The Playing, Sleep With Smile The Sweeter For That You Dropped Away In! On Your Curls' Full Roundness Stand Golden Lights Serenely-- One Cheek, Pushed Out By The Hand, Folds The Dimple Inly.

And Chaucer, With His Infantine Familiar Clasp Of Things Divine.

The Greeks Said Grandly In Their Tragic Phrase, 'let No One Be Called Happy Till His Death;' To Which I Would Add, 'let No One, Till His Death, Be Called Unhappy.'

We Overstate The Ills Of Life, And Take Imagination... Down Our Earth To Rake.

Where Christ Brings His Cross He Brings His Presence; And Where He Is None Are Desolate, And There Is No Room For Despair.