Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare.

Life Goes On Forever Like The Gnawing Of A Mouse.

Stranger, Pause And Look; From The Dust Of Ages Lift This Little Book, Turn The Tattered Pages, Read Me, Do Not Let Me Die! Search The Fading Letters Finding Steadfast In The Broken Binding All That Once Was I!

To What Purpose, April, Do You Return Again? Beauty Is Not Enough.

Youth, Have No Pity; Leave No Farthing Here For Age To Invest In Compromise And Fear.

Life In Itself / Is Nothing, / An Empty Cup, A Flight Of Uncarpeted Stairs. / It Is Not Enough That Yearly, Down This Hill, / April / Comes Like An Idiot, Babbling And Strewing Flowers.