Make your own free website on


By Joaquin Miller

In men whom men condem as ill
I find so much of goodness still,
In men whom men pronounce divine
I find so much sin and blot,
I do not dare to draw a line
Between the two, where God has not.

By Jessie B. Rittenhouse

I go in vesture spun by hands
Upon no loom of earth.
I dwell within a shining house
That has no walls nor hearth;

I live on food more exquisite
Than honey of the bee,
More delicate than manna
It falls to nourish me;

But none may see my shining house,
Nor taste my food so rare,
And none may see my moon-spun robe
Nor my star-powdered hair

You cannot be friends upon any other terms than upon the terms of equality                                                                                      WOODROW WILSON

BACK           HOME          NEXT