... All Ugliness Passes, And Beauty Endures,

Rhythm Is One Of The Principal Translators Between Dream And Reality. Rhythm Might Be Described As, To The World Of Sound, What Light Is To The World Of Sight. It Shapes And Gives New Meaning. Rhythm Was Described By Schopenhauer As Melody Deprived Of Its Pitch.

It Is Hardly Respectable To Be Good Nowadays.

The Busy Chatter Of The Heat Shrilled Like A Parakeet; And Shuddering At The Noonday Light The Dust Lay Dead And White As Powder On A Mummy's Face, Or Fawned With Simian Grace Round Booths With Many A Hard Bright Toy And Wooden Brittle Joy: The Cap And Bells Of Time The Clown That, Jangling, Whistled Down Young Cherubs Hidden In The Guise Of Every Bird That Flies; And Star-bright Masks For Youth To Wear, Lest Any Dream That Fare Bright Pilgrim Past Our Ken, Should See Hints Of Reality.

Poetry Ennobles The Heart And The Eyes, And Unveils The Meaning Of All Things Upon Which The Heart And The Eyes Dwell. It Discovers The Secret Rays Of The Universe, And Restores To Us Forgotten Paradises.

By The Time I Was Eleven Years Old, I Had Been Taught That Nature, Far From Abhorring A Vacuum, Positively Adores It.