Glory Be To God For Dappled Things.

Because The Holy Ghost Over The Bent World Broods With Warm Breast And With Ah! Bright Wings.

The Male Quality Is The Creative Gift.

That Piecemeal Peace Is Poor Peace. What Pure Peace Allows Alarms Of Wars, The Daunting Wars, The Death Of It?

I Have Desired To Go Where Springs Not Fail, To Fields Where Flies No Sharp And Sided Hail And A Few Lilies Blow.

I Find Myself Both As Man And As Myself Something More Determined And Distinctive, At Pitch, More Distinctive And Higher Pitched Than Anything Else I See.