A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy

O Latest Born And Loveliest Vision Far Of All Olympus' Faded Hierarchy.

Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled Wards, And Seal The Hushed Casket Of My Soul.

Already With Thee! Tender Is The Night. . . But Here There Is No Light. . .

We Must Repeat The Often Repeated Saying, That It Is Unworthy A Religious Man To View An Irreligious One Either With Alarm Or Aversion, Or With Any Other Feeling Than Regret And Hope And Brotherly Commiseration.

Where Are The Songs Of Spring? Aye, Where Are They? Think Not Of Them; Thou Has Thy Music Too.