I Meant To Do My Work Today

It Is Curious How, From Time Immemorial, Man Seems To Have Associated The Idea Of Evil With Beauty, Shrunk From It With A Sort Of Ghostly Fear, While, At The Same Time Drawn To It By Force Of Its Hypnotic Attraction.

Celestial Spirit That Doth Roll; The Heart's Sepulchral Stone Away, Be This Our Resurrection Day, The Singing Easter Of The Soul - O Gentle Master Of The Wise, Teach Us To Say: "i Will Arise."

I Meant To Do My Work Today But A Brown Bird Sang In The Apple Tree And A Butterfly Flitted Across The Field And All The Leaves Were Calling Me.

We Also Maintain - Again With Perfect Truth - That Mystery Is More Than Half Of Beauty, The Element Of Strangeness That Stirs The Senses Through The Imagination.

Nature Is Forever Arriving And Forever Departing, Forever Approaching, Forever Vanishing; But In Her Vanishings There Seems To Be Ever The Waving Of A Hand, In All Her Partings A Promise Of Meetings Farther Along The Road.