His Ears Were Often The First Thing

God Himself Is The Best Poet, And The Real Is His Song.

I Heard An Angel Speak Last Night/and He Said, "write!"

Unless You Can Feel When The Song Is Done No Other Is Sweet In Its Rhythm; Unless You Can Feel When Left By One That All Men Else Go With Him.

Sing, Seraph With The Glory! Heaven Is High. Sing, Poet With The Sorrow! Earth Is Low. The Universe's Inward Voices Cry "amen" To Either Song Of Joy And Woe. Sing, Seraph, Poet! Sing On Equally!

Every Age, Through Being Beheld Too Close, Is Ill-discerned By Those Who Have Not Lived Past It.