The Body Sprang At Once To The

Talent Should Minister To Genius.

The Heavens And Earth Stay As They Were; My Heart Beats As It Beat: The Truth Remains The Truth.

There Is No Truer Truth Obtainable By Man Than Comes Of Music

What Of Soul Was Left, I Wonder, When The Kissing Had To Stop?

Paracelsus At Times I Almost Dream I Too Have Spent A Life The Sages’ Way, And Tread Once More Familiar Paths. Perchance I Perished In An Arrogant Self-reliance Ages Ago; And In That Act A Prayer For One More Chance Went Up So Earnest, So Instinct With Better Light Let In By Death, That Life Was Blotted Out — Not So Completely But Scattered Wrecks Enough Of It Remain, Dim Memories, As Now, When Once More Seems The Goal In Sight Again.