Every Tear From Every Eyebecomes A Babe

Christianity Is Art And Not Money. Money Is Its Curse.

To See A World In A Grain Of Sand And A Heaven In A Wildflower.

I Went To The Garden Of Love, And Saw What I Never Had Seen: A Chapel Was Built In The Midst, Where I Used To Play On The Green. And The Gates Of This Chapel Were Shut, And 'thou Shalt Not' Writ Over The Door; So I Turn'd To The Garden Of Love, That So Many Sweet Flowers Bore. And I Saw It Was Filled With Graves, And Tomb-stones Where Flowers Should Be: And Priests In Black Gowns, Were Walking Their Rounds, And Binding With Briars, My Joys & Desires.

Sleep, Sleep, Beauty Bright,dreaming O'er The Joys Of Night.sleep, Sleep: In Thy Sleeplittle Sorrows Sit And Weep.

He Who Has Few Things To Desire Cannot Have Many To Fear.