Art Is The Child Of Nature In

The Day Is Done; And Slowly From The Scene The Stooping Sun Upgathers His Spent Shafts, And Puts Them Back Into His Golden Quiver!

The Great Tragedy Of The Average Man Is That He Goes To His Grave With His Music Still In Him.

Our Ingress Into The World Was Naked And Bare; Our Progress Through The World Is Trouble And Care.

White Swan Of Cities Slumbering In Thy Nest . . . White Phantom City, Whose Untrodden Streets Are Rivers, And Whose Pavements Are The Shifting Shadows Of The Palaces And Strips Of Sky.

In This World A Man Must Either Be Anvil Or Hammer.