As To The Garden, It

Speak Not, Move Not, But Listen, The Sky Is Full Of Gold. No Ripple On The River, No Stir In Field Or Fold, All Gleams But Naught Doth Glisten, But The Far-off Unseen Sea. Forget Days Past, Heart Broken, Put All Memory By! No Grief On The Green Hillside, No Pity In The Sky, Joy That May Not Be Spoken Fills Mead And Flower And Tree.

Whiles In The Early Winter Eve We Pass Amid The Gathering Night Some Homestead That We Had To Leave Years Past; And See Its Candles Bright Shine In The Room Beside The Door Where We Were Merry Years Agone But Now Must Never Enter More, As Still The Dark Road Drives Us On. E'en So The World Of Men May Turn At Even Of Some Hurried Day And See The Ancient Glimmer Burn Across The Waste That Hath No Way; Then With That Faint Light In Its Eyes A While I Bid It Linger Near And Nurse In Wavering Memories The Bitter-sweet Of Days That Were.

It Is The Childlike Part Of Us That Produces Works Of The Imagination. When We Were Children Time Passed So Slow With Us That We Seemed To Have Time For Everything.

Architecture Would Lead Us To All The Arts, As It Did With Earlier Mean: But If We Despise It And Take No Note Of How We Are Housed, The Other Arts Will Have A Hard Time Of It Indeed.

Do Not Be Afraid Of Large Patterns, If Properly Designed They Are More Restful To The Eye Than Small Ones: On The Whole, A Pattern Where The Structure Is Large And The Details Much Broken Up Is The Most Useful...very Small Rooms, As Well As Very Large Ones, Look Better Ornamented With Large Patterns.