Love, Whose Power Youth Feels, Is Not

Experience Is Only Half Of Experience.

Nothing Is More Consonant With Nature Than That She Puts Into Operation In The Smallest Detail That Which She Intends As A Whole.

Thou Art In The End What Thou Art. Put On Wigs With Millions Of Curls, Set Thy Foot Upon Ell-high Rocks. Thou Abidest Ever--what Thou Art.

And Here, Poor Fool, With All My Lore I Stand No Wiser Than Before.

As All Nature's Thousands Changes But One Changeless God Proclaim; So In Art's Wide Kingdom Ranges One Sole Meaning Still The Same: This Is Truth, Eternal Reason, Which From Beauty Takes Its Dress, And Serene Through Time And Season Stands Aye In Loveliness.