Even With One Companion Ecstasy

And For All This, Nature Is Never Spent; There Lives The Dearest Freshness Deep Down Things; And Though The Last Lights Off The Black West Went Oh, Morning, At The Brown Brink Eastward, Springs— Because The Holy Ghost Over The Bent World Broods With Warm Breast And With Ah! Bright Wings.

What Are Works Of Art For? To Educate, To Be Standards. To Produce Is Of Little Use Unless What We Produce Is Known, Is Widely Known, The Wider Known The Better, For It Is By Being Known That It Works, It Influences, It Does Its Duty, It Does Good. We Must Try, Then, To Be Known, Aim At It, Take Means To It. And This Without Puffing In The Process Or Pride In The Success.

The World Is Charged With The Grandeur Of God. It Will Flame Out, Like Shining From Shook Foil; It Gathers To A Greatness, Like The Ooze Of Oil Crushed.

For Christ Plays In Ten Thousand Places,/ Lovely In Limbs, And Lovely In Eyes Not His/ To The Father Through The Features Of Men’s Faces.

I Thought How Sadly Beauty Of Inscape Was Unknown And Buried Away From Simple People And Yet How Near At Hand It Was If They Had Eyes To See It And It Could Be Called Out Everywhere Again.