With Useless Endeavour Forever, Forever, Is Sisyphus

The World Loves A Spice Of Wickedness.

Nature Is A Revelation Of God; Art A Revelation Of Man.

Some Poems Are Like The Centaurs--a Mingling Of Man And Beast, And Begotten Of Ixion On A Cloud.

The Day Is Cold, And Dark, And Dreary; It Rains, And The Wind In Never Weary; The Vine Still Clings To The Mouldering Wall, But At Every Gust The Dead Leaves Fall, And The Day Is Dark And Dreary.

Silence Is A Great Peacemaker.