My Religion Of Life Is

The Man Of Science Is Nothing If Not A Poet Gone Wrong.

We Are Betrayed By What Is False Within

Cynicism Is Intellectual Dandyism.

Full Lasting Is The Song, Though He, / The Singer, Passes.

Lovely Are The Curves Of The White Owl Sweeping Wavy In The Dusk Lit By One Large Star. Lone On The Fir-branch, His Rattle-note Unvaried, Brooding O'er The Gloom, Spins The Brown Eve-jar.