If You're Asking For A Date, Forget

Art, As Far As It Is Able, Follows Nature, As A Pupil Imitates His Master; Thus Your Art Must Be, As It Were, God's Grandchild.

He Who Shall Never Be Divided From Me Kissed My Mouth All Trembling.

As Little Flowers, Which The Chill Of Night Has Bent And Huddled, When The White Sun Strikes, Grow Straight And Open Fully On Their Stems, So Did I, Too, With My Exhausted Force.

The Well Heeded Well Heard.

It Was The Hour Of Morning, When The Sun Mounts With Those Stars That Shone With It When God's Own Love First Set In Motion Those Fair Things