Amherst A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King. A word is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just Begins to live That day. After great pain, a formal feeling comes. Death is a Dialogue between, The Spirit and the Dust.
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate.
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. The distant strains of triumph Break agonized and clear. Truth is such a rare thing, it is delightful to tell it. The shadow of a mighty Negro past flits through the tale of Ethiopia the shadowy and of the Egypt the Sphinx.