So Long As The System Of Competition

There Was A Knight Came Riding By In Early Spring, When The Roads Were Dry; And He Heard That Lady Sing At The Noon, Two Red Roses Across The Moon.

Don't Think Too Much Of Style.

Speak Not, Move Not, But Listen, The Sky Is Full Of Gold. No Ripple On The River, No Stir In Field Or Fold, All Gleams But Naught Doth Glisten, But The Far-off Unseen Sea. Forget Days Past, Heart Broken, Put All Memory By! No Grief On The Green Hillside, No Pity In The Sky, Joy That May Not Be Spoken Fills Mead And Flower And Tree.

My Work Is The Embodiment Of Dreams In One Form Or Another.

I Half Wish That I Had Not Been Born With A Sense Of Romance And Beauty In This Accursed Age.