Pan Is Dead! Great Pan Is Dead!

God Only, Who Made Us Rich, Can Make Us Poor.

Whoever Lives True Life, Will Love True Love.

You Were Made Perfectly To Be Loved - And Surely I Have Loved You, In The Idea Of You, My Whole Life Long.

Think, In Mounting Higher, The Angels Would Press On Us, And Aspire To Drop Some Golden Orb Of Perfect Song Into Our Deep, Dear Silence.

The Plague Of Gold Strikes Far And Near.