The Plague Of Gold Strikes Far And

Life Treads On Life, And Heart On Heart; We Press Too Close In Church And Mart To Keep A Dream Or Grave Apart.

Art Is Much, But Love Is More.

For 'tis Not In Mere Death That Men Die Most.

Whoso Loves, Believes In The Impossible

The Soul's Rialto Hath Its Merchandise, I Barter For Curl Upon That Mart.