All The Live Murmur Of

But So Many Books Thou Readest, But So Many Schemes Thou Breedest, But So Many Wishes Feedest, That Thy Poor Head Almost Turns.

For Poetry The Idea Is Everything; The Rest Is A World Of Illusion, Of Divine Illusion. Poetry Attaches Its Emotion To The Idea; The Idea Is The Fact. The Strongest Part Of Our Religion Today Is Its Unconscious Poetry.

Life Is Not Having And Getting, But Being And Becoming

Yes! In The Sea Of Life Enisled, With Echoing Straits Between Us Thrown, Dotting The Shoreless Watery Wild, We Mortal Millions Live Alone.

Come, Dear Children, Let Us Away; Down And Away Below!