Autumn
A touch of cold in the Autumn night —
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.
Duties are ours; events are God's. This removes an infinite burden from the shoulders of a miserable, tempted, dying creature.…
You can't change anything by fighting or resisting it. You change something by making it obsolete through superior methods.
Happy the people whose annals are blank in the history books!