Music, When Soft Voices Die Vibrates In

But Hope Will Make Thee Young, For Hope And Youth Are Children Of One Mother, Even Love.

For There Are Deeds Which Have No Form, Sufferings Which Have No Tongue.

I Am The Daughter Of Earth And Water, And The Nursling Of The Sky; I Pass Through The Pores Of The Ocean And Shores; I Change, But I Cannot Die.

It Were As Wise To Cast A Violet Into A Crucible That You Might Discover The Formal Principle Of Its Color And Odor, As Seek To Transfuse From One Language Into Another The Creations Of A Poet. The Plant Must Spring Again From Its Seed, Or It Will Bear No Flower -- And This Is The Burthen Of The Curse Of Babel.

Cold Hopes Swarm Like Worms Within Our Living Clay.