Song Forbids Victorious Deeds To Die.

Ah, To That Far Distant Strand Bridge There Was Not To Convey, Not A Bark Was Near At Hand, Yet True Love Soon Found The Way.

The Victor Is Often Vanquished By His Own Success.

History, Insofar As It Accustoms Human Beings To Comprehend The Whole Of The Past And To Hasten Forward With Its Conclusions Into The Far Future, Conceals The Boundaries Of Birth And Death, Which Enclose The Life Of The Human Being So Narrowly And Oppressively, And With A Kind Of Optical Illusion, Expands His Short Existence Into Endless Space, Leading The Individual Imperceptibly Over Into Humanity.

You Worthy Critics, Or Whatever You May Call Yourselves, Are Ashamed Or Afraid Of The Momentary And Passing Madness Which Is Found In All Real Creators, The Longer Or Shorter Duration Of Which Distinguishes The Thinking Artist From The Dreamer. Hence Your Complaints Of Unfruitfulness, For You Reject Too Soon And Discriminate Too Severely.

Each State Of The Human Mind Has Some Parable In The Physical Creation By Which It Is Shadowed Forth; Nor Is It Only Artists And Poets, But Even The Most Abstract Thinkers That Have Drawn From This Source. Lively Activity We Name Fire; Time Is A Stream That Rolls On, Sweeping All Before It; Eternity Is A Circle; A Mystery Is Hid In Midnight Gloom, And Truth Dwells In The Sun. Nay, I Begin To Believe That Even The Future Destiny Of The Human Race Is Prefigured In The Dark Oracular Utterances Of Bodily Creation.