Death Is A Meeting Place Of Sea

[at A Musical Concert:] . . . The Music's Pure Algebra Of Enchantment.

We Are The Ghosts Of The Singing Furies .

Life Is The Thing--the Song Of Life-- The Eager Plow, The Thirsty Knife!

The Days, The Nights, Flow One By One Above Us. The Hours Go Silently Over Our Lifted Faces. We Are Like Dreamers Who Walk Beneath A Sea. Beneath High Walls We Flow In The Sun Together. We Sleep, We Wake, We Laugh, We Pursue, We Flee.

As Poetry Is The Highest Speech Of Man, It Can Not Only Accept And Contain, But In The End Express Best Everything In The World, Or In Himself, That He Discovers. It Will Absorb And Transmute, As It Always Has Done, And Glorify, All That We Can Know. This Has Always Been, And Always Will Be, Poetry's Office.