All Books Are Either Dreams

Brighter Than Fireflies Upon The Uji River Are Your Words In The Dark, Beloved.

To-night When The Full-bellied Moon Swallows The Stars. Grant That I Know.

How Hard, How Desperately Hard, Is The Way Of The Experimenter In Art!

A Black Cat Among Roses, Phlox, Lilac-misted Under A Quarter Moon, The Sweet Smells Of Heliotrope And Night-scented Stock. The Garden Is Very Still. It Is Dazed With Moonlight, Contented With Perfume.

Happiness, To Some, Is Elation; To Others It Is Mere Stagnation.