All Writing Is A Form

...yes, In Spite Of All, Some Shape Of Beauty Moves Away The Pall From Out Dark Spirits.

Let Us Open Our Leaves Like A Flower, And Be Passive And Receptive.

But The Rose Leaves Herself Upon The Brier, For Winds To Kiss And Grateful Bees To Feed.

Beauty Is Truth, Truth Beauty,-that Is All Ye Know On Earth, And All Ye Need To Know.

Thou Art A Dreaming Thing, A Fever Of Thyself.