Pan Is Dead! Great Pan Is Dead!

Foolishness And Criticism Are So Apt, Do So Naturally Go Together!

But The Child's Sob Curses Deeper In The Silence Than The Strong Man In His Wrath!

I Love Thee To The Depth And Breadth And Height My Soul Can Reach.

Or From Browning Some "pomegranate," Which If Cut Deep Down The Middle Shows A Heart Within Blood-tinctured, Of A Veined Humanity.

As The Moths Around A Taper, As The Bees Around A Rose, As The Gnats Around A Vapour, So The Spirits Group And Close Round About A Holy Childhood, As If Drinking Its Repose.