No Doubt The Artist Is

Art Is Difficult, Transient Is Her Reward.

Many A Smiling Face Hides A Mourning Heart; But Grief Alone Teaches Us What We Are.

Death Is A Mighty Mediator. There All The Flames Of Rage Are Extinguished, Hatred Is Appeased, And Angelic Pity, Like A Weeping Sister, Bends With Gentle And Close Embrace Over The Funeral Urn.

The Voice Of The Majority Is No Proof Of Justice.

When The Measured Dance Of The Hours Brings Back The Happy Smile Of Spring, The Buried Dead Is Born Again In The Life-glance Of The Sun. The Germs Which Perished To The Eye Within The Cold Breast Of The Earth Spring Up With Joy In The Bright Realm Of Day.