He Lives Most Life Whoever Breathes Most

Yet How Proud We Are, In Daring To Look Down Upon Ourselves!

What Is Art But The Life Upon The Larger Scale, The Higher. When, Graduating Up In A Spiral Line Of Still Expanding And Ascending Gyres, It Pushes Toward The Intense Significance Of All Things, Hungry For The Infinite?

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless; That Only Men Incredulous Of Despair, Half-taught In Anguish, Through The Midnight Air Beat Upward To God's Throne In Loud Access Of Shrieking And Reproach

If We Tried To Sink The Past Beneath Our Feet, Be Sure The Future Would Not Stand.

We Can't Separate Our Humanity From Our Poetry.