History Casts Its Shadow Far Into The

Very Hot And Still The Air Was, Very Smooth The Gliding River, Motionless The Sleeping Shadows.

He Spoke Well Who Said That Graves Are The Footprints Of Angels.

Look, Then, Into Thine Heart, And Write! Yes, Into Life's Deep Stream! All Forms Of Sorrow And Delight, All Solemn Voices Of The Night, That Can Soothe Thee, Or Affright, - Be These Henceforth Thy Theme. (excerpt From "voices Of The Night")

It Is Curious To Note The Old Sea-margins Of Human Thought! Each Subsiding Century Reveals Some New Mystery; We Build Where Monsters Used To Hide Themselves.

The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls, The Twilight Darkens, The Curlew Calls; The Little Waves, With Their Soft, White Hands, Efface The Footprints In The Sands, And The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls.