I Live And Love In God's Peculiar

Genius Is Infinite Painstaking.

Led By Long Years To My Last Hours, Too Late, O World, I Know Your Joys For What They Are. You Promise A Peace Which Is Not Yours To Give And The Repose That Dies Before It Is Born. The Years Of Fear And Shame To Which Heaven Now Set A Term, Renew Nothing In Me But The Old Sweet Error In Which, Living Overlong A Man Kills His Soul With No Gain To His Body. I Say And I Know Having Put It To The Proof, That He Has The Better Part In Heaven Whose Death Falls Nearest His Birth.

The Science Of Design, Or Of Line-drawing, If You Like To Use This Term, Is The Source And Very Essence Of Painting, Sculpture, Architecture... Sometimes... It Seems To Me That... All The Works Of The Human Brain And Hand Are Either Design Itself Or A Branch Of That Art.

If I Love In Thee, Beloved, Only What Thou Lovest Most, Do Not Be Angry; For So One Spirit Is Enamoured Of Another.

From Such A Gentle Thing, From Such A Fountain Of All Delight, My Every Pain Is Born.