They fail, and they alone, who have not striven.
TWO QUATRAINS
MAPLE LEAVES
October turned my maple’s leaves to gold;
The most are gone now; here and there one lingers:
Soon these will slip from out the twigs’ weak hold,
Like coins between a dying miser’s fingers.
PESSIMIST AND OPTIMIST
This one sits shivering in Fortune’s smile,
Taking his joy with bated, doubtful breath.