There Is Nothing Insignificant-nothing.

In Shakespeare One Sentence Begets The Next Naturally; The Meaning Is All Inwoven. He Goes On Kindling Like A Meteor Through The Dark Atmosphere.

I May Not Hope From Outward Forms To Win / The Passion And The Life, Whose Fountains Are Within.

Ah! From The Soul Itself Must Issue Forth A Light, A Glory, A Fair Luminous Cloud Enveloping The Earth And From The Soul Itself Must There Be Sent A Sweet And Potent Voice, Of Its Own Birth Of All Sweet Sounds The Life And Element!

The One Red Leaf, The Last Of Its Clan, That Dances As Often As Dance It Can, Hanging So Light, And Hanging So High, On The Topmost Twig That Looks Up At The Sky.

The Book Of Job Is Pure Arab Poetry Of The Highest And Most Antique Cast.