Graves They Say Are Warm'd By Glory;

If One Has No Heart, One Cannot Write For The Masses.

The Stones Here Speak To Me, And I Know Their Mute Language. Also, They Seem Deeply To Feel What I Think. So A Broken Column Of The Old Roman Times, An Old Tower Of Lombardy, A Weather- Beaten Gothic Piece Of A Pillar Understands Me Well. But I Am A Ruin Myself, Wandering Among Ruins.

The Beauteous Eyes Of The Spring's Fair Night With Comfort Are Downward Gazing.

My Heart Resembles The Ocean; Has Storm, And Ebb And Flow; And Many A Beautiful Pearl Lies Hid In Its Depths Below.

In Dark Ages People Are Best Guided By Religion, As In A Pitch-black Night A Blind Man Is The Best Guide; He Knows The Roads And Paths Better Than A Man Who Can See. When Daylight Comes, However, It Is Foolish To Use Blind, Old Men As Guides.