Definition Of Love: A Score Of Zero

Very Whitely Still The Lilies Of Our Lives May Reassure Their Blossoms From Their Roots, Accessible Alone To Heavenly Dews That Drop Not Fewer; Growing Straight Out Of Man's Reach, On The Hill. God Only, Who Made Us Rich, Can Make Us Poor.

Through Heaven And Earth God's Will Moves Freely, And I Follow It, As Color Follows Light. He Overflows The Firmamental Walls With Deity, Therefore With Love; His Lightnings Go Abroad, His Pity May Do So, His Angels Must, Whene'er He Gives Them Charges.

Every Age, Through Being Beheld Too Close, Is Ill-discerned By Those Who Have Not Lived Past It.

It Is Not Merely The Likeness Which Is Precious... But The Association And The Sense Of Nearness Involved In The Thing... The Fact Of The Very Shadow Of The Person Lying There Fixed Forever! It Is The Very Sanctification Of Portraits I Think - And It Is Not At All Monstrous In Me To Say That I Would Rather Have Such A Memorial Of One I Dearly Loved, Than The Noblest Artist's Work Ever Produced.

And That Dismal Cry Rose Slowly And Sank Slowly Through The Air, Full Of Spirit's Melancholy And Eternity's Despair; And They Heard The Words It Said,- "pan Is Dead! Great Pan Is Dead! Pan, Pan Is Dead!"