God Is The Poetic Genius In Each

The Vision Of Christ That Thou Dost See, Is My Vision's Greatest Enemy. Thine Is The Friend Of All Mankind, Mine Speaks In Parables To The Blind. Thine Loves The Same World That Mine Hates, Thy Heaven-doors Are My Hell Gates.

Ah, Sunflower, Weary Of Time, Who Countest The Steps Of The Sun, Seeking After That Sweet Golden Clime Where The Traveller's Journey Is Done; Where The Youth Pined Away With Desire And The Pale Virgin Shrouded In Snow Arise From Their Graves, And Aspire Where My Sunflower Wishes To Go.

Although Wine When It Is Read Somewhat Lacks The Savour Of Wine When It Is Drunk, Wine Remains A Very Pleasant Thing Both To Read About And To Chat About.

Children Of The Future Age Reading This Indignant Page Know That In A Former Time Love, Sweet Love, Was Thought A Crime

To The Eyes Of The Man Of Imagination, Nature Is Imagination Itself.