It Is Not Vain Glory

Great Floods Have Flown From Simple Sources.

How Poor Are They That Have Have Not Patients.

Why Then, O Brawling Love! O Loving Hate! O Any Thing, Of Nothing First Create! O Heavy Lightness, Serious Vanity, Misshapen Chaos Of Well-seeming Forms, Feather Of Lead, Bright Smoke, Cold Fire, Sick Health, Still-waking Sleep, That Is Not What It Is! This Love Feel I, That Feel No Love In This.

A Loud Laugh Bespeaks A Vacant Mind!

Praise Us As We Are Tasted, Allow Us As We Prove.