For 'tis Not In Mere Death That

Pan Is Dead! Great Pan Is Dead! Pan, Pan Is Dead!

And Is It Not The Chief Good Of Money, The Being Free From The Need Of Thinking Of It?

All Actual Heroes Are Essential Men, And All Men Possible Heroes.

We Can't Separate Our Humanity From Our Poetry.

For Me, My Heart, That Erst Did Go Most Like A Tired Child At A Show, That Sees Through Tears The Mummers Leap, Would Now Its Wearied Vision Close, Would Childlike On His Love Repose, Who Giveth His Beloved, Sleep.