I Could Not Accept From Wisdom What

We Are These People, Wistful, Ironical, Wilful, Who Have No Part In New-world Reconstruction, In The Confederacy Of Labour.

I Spit Honey Out Of My Mouth: Nothing Is Second-best After The Sweet Of Eros.

That Way Of Inspiration Is Always Open, And Open To Everyone; It Acts As Go-between, Interpreter, It Explains Symbols Of The Past In To-day's Imagery.

But Beauty Is Set Apart, Beauty Is Cast By The Sea, A Barren Rock, Beauty Is Set About With Wrecks Of Ships.

I Had Drawn Away Into The Salt, Myself, A Shell Emptied Of Life.