O Have A Care Of Natures That

George Eliot Has The Heart Of Sappho; But The Face, With The Long Proboscis, The Protruding Teeth Of The Apocalyptic Horse, Betrayed Animality.

Around The Ancient Track Marched, Rank On Rank, The Army Of Unalterable Law.

A House With A Great Wine Stored Below Lives In Our Imagination As A Joyful House, Fast And Splendidly Rooted In The Soil.

Darker Grows The Valley, More And More Forgetting: So Were It With Me If Forgetting Could Be Willed. Tell The Grassy Hollow That Holds The Bubbling Well-spring, Tell It To Forget The Source That Keeps It Filled.

The Well Of True Wit Is Truth Itself.