With Useless Endeavour Forever, Forever, Is Sisyphus

Art Is The Gift Of God, And Must Be Used Unto His Glory.

The Lamps Are Lit, The Fires Burn Bright. The House Is Full Of Life And Light.

Many A Poem Is Marred By A Superfluous Verse.

All Your Strength Is In Union, All Your Danger Is In Discord.

Take Them, O Death! And Bear Away Whatever Thou Canst Call Thine Own! Thine Image, Stamped Upon This Clay, Doth Give Thee That, But That Alone!