“Progress” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Let there be many windows to your soul, That all the glory of the universe May beautify it. Not the narrow pane Of one poor …
Let there be many windows to your soul, That all the glory of the universe May beautify it. Not the narrow pane Of one poor …
The mountains that enfold the vale With walls of granite, steep and high, Invite the fearless foot to scale Their stairway toward the sky.