Art Is The Most Passionate Orgy Within

Reason Is Our Soul's Left Hand, Faith Her Right, By These We Reach Divinity

And Dare Love That, And Say So Too, And Forget The He And She.

Nature Hath No Goal Though She Hath Law.

As Virtuous Men Pass Mildly Away, And Whisper To Their Souls To Go, Whilst Some Of Their Sad Friends Do Say, The Breath Goes Now, And Some Say No.

Love, All Alike, No Season Knows, Nor Clime, Nor Hours, Days, Months, Which Are The Rags Of Time.