Books Are Men Of Higher

The Beautiful Seems Right By Force Of Beauty And The Feeble Wrong Because Of Weakness.

But Love Me For Love's Sake, That Evermore Thou May'st Love On, Through Love's Eternity.

We Can't Separate Our Humanity From Our Poetry.

O Earth, So Full Of Dreary Noises! O Men, With Wailing In Your Voices! O Delved Gold, The Wader's Heap! O Strife, O Curse, That O'er It Fall! God Makes A Silence Through You All, And "giveth His Beloved, Sleep.

That Headlong Ivy! Not A Leaf Will Grow But Thinking Of A Wreath, . . . I Like Such Ivy; Bold To Leap A Height 'twas Strong To Climb! As Good To Grow On Graves As Twist About A Thyrsus; Pretty Too (and That's Not Ill) When Twisted Round A Comb.