But Are Not The Dreams

I Should Describe Mine Own Nature As Tripartite, My Interests Consisting Of Three Parallel And Dissociated Groups - (a) Love Of The Strange And Fantastic. (b) Love Of The Abstract Truth And Of Scientific Logick. (c) Love Of The Ancient And The Permanent. Sundry Combinations Of These Three Strains Will Probably Account For All My Odd Tastes And Eccentricities.

In My Dreams I Found A Little Of The Beauty I Had Vainly Sought In Life, And Wandered Through Old Gardens And Enchanted Woods.

I Am A Student Of Life, And Don't Want To Miss Any Experience. There's Poetry In This Sort Of Thing, You Know--or Perhaps You Don't Know, But It's All The Same.

More Wonderful Than The Lore Of Old Men And The Lore Of Books Is The Secret Lore Of The Ocean. Blue, Green, Grey, White, Or Black; Smooth, Ruffled, Or Mountainous; That Ocean Is Not Silent. All My Days I Have Watched It And Listened To It, And I Know It Well. At First It Told To Me Only The Plain Little Tales Of Calm Beaches And Near Ports, But With The Years It Grew More Friendly And Spoke Of Other Things; Of Things More Strange And More Distant In Space And Time.

It Was From The Artists And Poets That The Pertinent Answers Came, And I Know That Panic Would Have Broken Loose Had They Been Able To Compare Notes.