How Many Desolate Creatures On

O Pusillanimous Heart, Be Comforted And, Like A Cheerful Traveller, Take The Road Singing Beside The Hedge.

There Shakespeare, On Whose Forehead Climb The Crowns O' The World; Oh, Eyes Sublime With Tears And Laughter For All Time!

The Growing Drama Has Outgrown Such Toys Of Simulated Stature, Face, And Speech: It Also Peradventure May Outgrow The Simulation Of The Painted Scene, Boards, Actors, Prompters, Gaslight, And Costume, And Take For A Worthier Stage The Soul Itself, Its Shifting Fancies And Celestial Lights, With All Its Grand Orchestral Silences To Keep The Pauses Of Its Rhythmic Sounds.

Or From Browning Some "pomegranate," Which If Cut Deep Down The Middle Shows A Heart Within Blood-tinctured, Of A Veined Humanity.

The Charm, One Might Say The Genius, Of Memory Is That It Is Choosy, Chancy And Temperamental; It Rejects The Edifying Cathedral And Indelibly Photographs The Small Boy Outside, Chewing A Hunk Of Melon In The Dust.