Would You Have Your Songs Endure? Build

Life Is An Empty Dream.

Over My Head His Arm He Flung, Against The World.

Oh, Good Gigantic Smile O' The Brown Old Earth, This Autumn Morning! How He Sets His Bones To Bask I' The Sun, And Thrusts Out Knees And Feet. From The Ripple To Run Over In Its Mirth

And I Have Written Three Books On The Soul, Proving Absurd All Written Hitherto, And Putting Us To Ignorance Again.

Truth Is Within Ourselves.