Doubt Is The Shadow Of Truth.

Mind And Night Will Meet, Though In Silence, Like Forbidden Lovers.

Poetry Is Itself A Thing Of God; He Made His Prophets Poets; And The More We Feel Of Poesie Do We Become Like God In Love And Power,-under-makers.

Could We But Think With The Intensity We Love With, We Might Do Great Things.

Night Comes, World-jewelled, . . . The Stars Rush Forth In Myriads As To Wage War With The Lines Of Darkness; And The Moon, Pale Ghost Of Night, Comes Haunting The Cold Earth After The Sun's Red Sea-death--quietless.

The Value Of A Thought Cannot Be Told.