To Ignore Or Use Silence

Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

A Color Stands Abroad On Solitary Hills That Silence Cannot Overtake, But Human Nature Feels.

Beauty Is Not The Cause Of Something, It Is What It Is.

Here Is A Little Forest Whose Leaf Is Ever Green; Here Is A Brighter Garden, Where Not A Frost Has Been; In Its Unfading Flowers I Hear The Bright Bee Hum; Prithee, My Brother, Into My Garden Come!

When We Think Of His Lone Effort To Live And Its Bleak Reward, The Mind Turns To The Myth "for His Mercy Endureth Forever," With Confiding Revulsion.