I Cannot Be Content With Less Than

We Must Not Pluck Death From The Maker's Hand.

Art Is A Man's Nature; Nature Is God's Art.

The Ground Of All Great Thoughts Is Sadness.

Night Comes, World-jewelled, . . . The Stars Rush Forth In Myriads As To Wage War With The Lines Of Darkness; And The Moon, Pale Ghost Of Night, Comes Haunting The Cold Earth After The Sun's Red Sea-death--quietless.

The World Is A Great Poem, And The World's The Words It Is Writ In, And We Souls The Thoughts.