Can wash the earth-stains from its fevered loins.
We carve our sorrows on the face of joy,
Reversing the true image; we are weak
Where strength is needed most, and most is given.
'TIS SUMMER STILL
'TIS Summer still, yet now and then a leaf
Falls from some stately tree. True type of life!
How emblematic of the pangs that grief
Wrings from our blighted hopes, that one by one