As A Man Is, So He Sees.

Ah, Sunflower, Weary Of Time, Who Countest The Steps Of The Sun, Seeking After That Sweet Golden Clime Where The Traveller's Journey Is Done; Where The Youth Pined Away With Desire And The Pale Virgin Shrouded In Snow Arise From Their Graves, And Aspire Where My Sunflower Wishes To Go.

The Vision Of Christ That Thou Dost See, Is My Vision's Greatest Enemy. Thine Is The Friend Of All Mankind, Mine Speaks In Parables To The Blind. Thine Loves The Same World That Mine Hates, Thy Heaven-doors Are My Hell Gates.

Colouring Does Not Depend On Where The Colours Are Put, But On Where The Lights And Darks Are Put, And All Depends On Form And Outline, On Where That Is Put.

O Thou Who Passest Through Our Valleys In Thy Strength, Curb Thy Fierce Steeds, Allay The Heat That Flames From Their Large Nostrils! Thou, O Summer, Oft Pitchest Here Thy Golden Tent, And Oft Beneath Our Oaks Hast Slept, While We Beheld With Joy Thy Ruddy Limbs And Flourishing Hair.

Everything Is Beautiful In Its Own Way. Exuberance Is Beauty.