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| April | Make me over, Mother April, When the sap begins to stir! When thy flowery hand delivers All the mountain-prisoned rivers, And thy great heart beats and quivers, To revive the days that were. | | Immortality | I do not know beneath what sky nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know it shall be high, I only know it shall be great. | | Hospitality | For 't is always fair weather When good fellows get together With a stein on the table and a good song ringing clear. | | Spring | For surely in the blind deep-buried roots Of all men's souls to-day A secret quiver shoots. | | Traveling | I am fevered with the sunset, I am fretful with the bay, For the wander-thirst is on me And my soul is in Cathay. | | Wealth | And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and sold, The wealth of nations is men, not silk and cotton and gold. | | - Page 1 | |
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