Coldly, Sadly Descends The Autumn Evening. The

Ah, Love, Let Us Be True To One Another!

Without Poetry Our Science Will Appear Incomplete, And Most Of What Now Passes With Us For Religion And Philosophy Will Be Replaced By Poetry.

Too Quick Despairer, Wherefore Wilt Thou Go? Soon Will The High Midsummer Pomps Come On, Soon Will The Musk Carnations Break And Swell.

For Poetry The Idea Is Everything; The Rest Is A World Of Illusion, Of Divine Illusion. Poetry Attaches Its Emotion To The Idea; The Idea Is The Fact. The Strongest Part Of Our Religion Today Is Its Unconscious Poetry.

Like Driftwood Spares Which Meet And Pass Upon The Boundless Ocean-plain, So On The Sea Of Life, Alas! Man Nears Man, Meets, And Leaves Again.