The thirst to know and understand, a large and liberal discontent.

Song is not Truth, not Wisdom, but the rose Upon Truths lips, the light in Wisdom’s eyes.

He saw wan Woman toil with famished eyes; He saw her bound, and strove to sing her free. He saw her fall’n; and wrote “The Bridge of Sighs”; And on it crossed to immortality.

His friends he loved. His direst earthly foe – Cats-I believe he did but feign to hate. My hand will miss the insinuated nose, Mine eyes the tail that wagged contempt at Fate.

She is not old, she is not young, The Woman with the Serpent’s Tongue. The haggard cheek, the hungering eye, The poisoned words that wildly fly, The famished face, the fevered hand, Who slights the worthiest in the land, Sneers at the just, contemns the brave, And blackens goodness in its grave...

Deemest thou laborOnly is earnest?Grave is all beauty,Solemn is joy.

April, April Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears.

In this world with starry dome,Floored with gemlike plains and seas,Shall I never feel at home,Never wholly be at ease?

On from room to room I stray,Yet mine Host can ne'er espy,And I know not to this day,Whether guest or captive I.

Thou hadst, for weary feet, the gift of rest.