Ah, Love, Let Us Be True To

Truth Sits Upon The Lips Of Dying Men.

When Byron's Eyes Were Shut In Death, We Bow'd Our Head And Held Our Breath. He Taught Us Little; But Our Soul Had Felt His Like A Thunder Roll. . . . We Watch'd The Fount Of Fiery Life Which Serv'd For That Titanic Life.

But Thou, My Son, Study To Make Prevail One Colour In Thy Life, The Hue Of Truth.

Life Is Not Having And Getting, But Being And Becoming

The Strongest Part Of A Religion Today Is Its Unconscious Poetry