Simplicity Of Life, Even The Barest, Is

Have Nothing In Your House That You Do Not Know To Be Useful, Or Believe To Be Beautiful.

You May Hang Your Walls With Tapestry Insread Of Whitewash Or Paper; Or You May Cover Them With Mosaic; Or Have Them Frescoed By A Great Painter: All This Is Not Luxury, If It Be Done For Beauty's Sake, And Not For Show: It Does Not Break Our Golden Rule: Have Nothing In Your Houses Which You Do Not Know To Be Useful Or Believe To Be Beautiful.

Death Have We Hated, Knowing Not What It Meant; Life We Have Loved, Through Green Leaf And Through Sere, Though Still The Less We Knew Of Its Intent.

...if Our Houses, Or Clothes, Our Household Furniture And Utensils Are Not Works Of Art, They Are Either Wretched Makeshifts, Or, What Is Worse, Degrading Shams Of Better Things.

Whiles In The Early Winter Eve We Pass Amid The Gathering Night Some Homestead That We Had To Leave Years Past; And See Its Candles Bright Shine In The Room Beside The Door Where We Were Merry Years Agone But Now Must Never Enter More, As Still The Dark Road Drives Us On. E'en So The World Of Men May Turn At Even Of Some Hurried Day And See The Ancient Glimmer Burn Across The Waste That Hath No Way; Then With That Faint Light In Its Eyes A While I Bid It Linger Near And Nurse In Wavering Memories The Bitter-sweet Of Days That Were.