Seas Are The Fields Of Combat For

An Horrible Stillness First Invades Our Ear, And In That Silence We The Tempest Fear.

Fool That I Was, Upon My Eagle's Wings I Bore This Wren, Till I Was Tired With Soaring, And Now He Mounts Above Me.

Shakespeare Was Naturally Learned; He Needed Not The Spectacles Of The Books To Read Nature; He Looked Inward, And Found Her There.

Death Only This Mysterious Truth Unfolds, The Mighty Soul How Small A Body Holds.

…so When The Last And Dreadful Hour This Crumbling Pageant Shall Devour, The Trumpet Shall Be Heard On High, The Dead Shall Live, The Living Die, And Music Shall Untune The Sky