Whatever's Lost, It First Was Won.

O Brave Poets, Keep Back Nothing; Nor Mix Falsehood With The Whole! Look Up Godward! Speak The Truth In Worthy Song From Earnest Soul! Hold, In High Poetic Duty, Truest Truth The Fairest Beauty.

The Soul's Rialto Hath Its Merchandise, I Barter For Curl Upon That Mart.

And Is It Not The Chief Good Of Money, The Being Free From The Need Of Thinking Of It?

Xi I Sang His Name Instead Of Song; Over And Over I Sang His Name: Backward And Forward I Sang It Along, With My Sweetest Notes, It Was Still The Same! I Sang It Low, That The Slave-girls Near Might Never Guess, From What They Could Hear, That All The Song Was A Name.

Unless You Can Feel When The Song Is Done No Other Is Sweet In Its Rhythm; Unless You Can Feel When Left By One That All Men Else Go With Him.