Many Make The Household But Only One

The Purely Great Whose Soul No Siren Passion Could Unsphere, Thou Nameless, Now A Power And Mixed With Fate.

Suddenly All The Sky Is Hid As With The Shutting Of A Lid, One By One Great Drops Are Falling Doubtful And Slow, Down The Pane They Are Crookedly Crawling, And The Wind Breathes Low; Slowly The Circles Widen On The River, Widen And Mingle, One And All; Here And There The Slenderer Flowers Shiver, Struck By An Icy Rain-drop’s Fall.

Talent Is That Which Is In A Man's Power; Genius Is That In Whose Power A Man Is.

At The Devil's Booth Are All Things Sold. Each Ounce Of Dross Costs Its Ounce Of Gold.

Who Gives Himself With His Alms Feeds Three, Himself, His Hungering Neighbor And Me.