Absurdities Are Great Or Small In Proportion

Death Stands Above Me, Whispering Low I Know Not What Into My Ear; Of His Strange Language All I Know Is, There Is Not A Word Of Fear.

Was Genius Ever Ungrateful? Mere Talents Are Dry Leaves, Tossed Up And Down By Gusts Of Passion, And Scattered And Swept Away; But, Genius Lies On The Bosom Of Memory, And Gratitude At Her Feet.

There Is Delight In Singing, Though None Hear Beside The Singer.

Ambition Is But Avarice On Stilts, And Masked. God Sometimes Sends A Famine, Sometimes A Pestilence, And Sometimes A Hero, For The Chastisement Of Mankind; None Of Them Surely For Our Admiration.

God Scatters Beauty As He Scatters Flowers O'er The Wide Earth, And Tells Us All Are Ours. A Hundred Lights In Every Temple Burn, And At Each Shrine I Bend My Knee In Turn.