Grant Me, O Lord, A Sunny Mind-thy

Initial Of Creation, And The Exponent Of Earth

Beauty Is Not Caused, It Is; Chase It And It Ceases, Chase It Not And It Abides.

Love Can Do All But Raise The Dead.

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die. Beauty, Mercy Have On Me! Yet If I Expire To-day Let It Be In Sight Of Thee!

Exultation Is The Going Of An Inland Soul To Sea Past The Houses, Past The Headlands Into Deep Eternity! Bred As We, Among The Mountains Can The Sailor Understand The Divine Intoxication Of The First League Out From Land?