Balder The Beautiful Is Dead, Is Dead!

Standing, With Reluctant Feet, Where The Brook And River Meet, Womanhood And Childhood Fleet!

Art Is The Child Of Nature In Whom We Trace The Features Of The Mothers Face.

For Age Is Opportunity No Less Than Youth Itself, Though In Another Dress, And As The Evening Twilight Fades Away The Sky Is Filled With Stars, Invisible By Day.

All Nature ... Is A Respiration Of The Spirit Of God, Who, In Breathing Hereafter Will Inhale It Into His Bosom Again, So That Nothing But God Alone Will Remain.

Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall.