Crowds! Crowds! Crowds! Suddenly here as if come from the clouds That faded away as they came; Mad acres of people aflame With thirst for a morsel of land; Wild hunters of fortune, whose game...
Poems are holy things. Eternal Truth, Borrowing the robes of song and lovely grown, In them her glory unto man proclaims And fills his longing soul. They softly speak Of Nature's beauty and the secrets old...
Within this false world we may count ourselves blest, If we have but one friend who is faithful and true; And so in your friendship contented I'll rest, And believe I have found that one blessing in you.