The Busy Have No Time For Tears.

Yet He Was Jealous, Though He Did Not Show It, For Jealousy Dislikes The World To Know It.

I Feel My Immortality Over Sweep All Pains, All Tears, All Time, All Fears, - And Peal, Like The Eternal Thunders Of The Deep, Into My Ears, This Truth, - Thou Livest Forever!

Man Is In Part Divine, A Troubled Stream From A Pure Source.

Earth! Render Back From Out Thy Breast A Remnant Of Our Spartan Dead! Of The Three Hundred Grant But Three, To Make A New Thermopylæ!

My Slumbers--if I Slumber--are Not Sleep, But A Continuance Of Enduring Thought, Which Then I Can Resist Not: In My Heart There Is A Vigil, And These Eyes But Close To Look Within; And Yet I Live, And Bear The Aspect And The Form Of Breathing Men.