How Many Desolate Creatures On The Earth

With What Cracked Pitchers Go We To Deep Wells In This World!

We Can't Separate Our Humanity From Our Poetry.

Alas, I Have Grieved So I Am Hard To Love. Yet Love Me--wilt Thou? Open Thine Heart Wide, And Fold Within, The Wet Wings Of Thy Dove.

Experience, Like A Pale Musician, Holds A Dulcimer Of Patience In His Hand.

The Growing Drama Has Outgrown Such Toys Of Simulated Stature, Face, And Speech: It Also Peradventure May Outgrow The Simulation Of The Painted Scene, Boards, Actors, Prompters, Gaslight, And Costume, And Take For A Worthier Stage The Soul Itself, Its Shifting Fancies And Celestial Lights, With All Its Grand Orchestral Silences To Keep The Pauses Of Its Rhythmic Sounds.