Truth can never be told so as to be understood and not be believed. - William Blake

Great things are done when men and mountains meet;
This is not done by jostling in the street.

What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
And in the wither'd field where the farmer ploughs for bread in vain

It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun
And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn
It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted
To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer
To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season
When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs

The modest Rose puts forth a Thorn.
The humble Sheep a threat'ning Horn.
While the Lily white shall in love delight.
Nor a Thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.