A Poet Not In Love Is Out

Words Are The Motes Of Thought, And Nothing More.

Any Heart Turned Godward Feels More Joyin One Short Hour Of Prayer, Than E'er Was Raisedby All The Feasts Of Earth Since Its Foundation.

We Must Not Pluck Death From The Maker's Hand.

It Matters Not How Long We Live But How.

We Love And Live In Power; It Is The Spirit's End. Mind Must Subdue; To Conquer Is Its Life.