I Had No Time To Hate, Because

I Don't Profess To Be Profound; But I Do Lay Claim To Common Sense.

The Possible's Slow Fuse Is Lit By The Imagination.

A Murmur In The Trees - To Note - Not Loud Enough - For Wind - A Star - Not Far Enough To Seek - Nor Near Enough - To Find

Further In Summer Than The Birds Pathetic From The Grass A Minor Nation Celebrates Its Unobtrusive Mass. No Ordinance Be Seen So Gradual The Grace A Pensive Custom It Becomes Enlarging Loneliness. Antiquest Felt At Noon When August Burning Low Arise This Spectral Canticle Repose To Typify Remit As Yet No Grace No Furrow On The Glow Yet A Druidic Difference Enhances Nature Now.

A Dominie In Gray-- Put Gently Up The Evening Bars-- And Led The Flock Away