For Poetry The Idea Is Everything; The

For Poetry The Idea Is Everything; The Rest Is A World Of Illusion.

Home Of Lost Causes, And Forsaken Beliefs, And Unpopular Names, And Impossible Loyalties!

Come To Me In My Dreams, And Then By Day I Shall Be Well Again. For Then The Night Will More Than Pay The Hopeless Longing Of The Day.

When Byron's Eyes Were Shut In Death, We Bow'd Our Head And Held Our Breath. He Taught Us Little; But Our Soul Had Felt His Like A Thunder Roll. . . . We Watch'd The Fount Of Fiery Life Which Serv'd For That Titanic Life.

Life Is The Application Of Noble And Profound Ideas To Life.