Art Remains The One Way Possible Of

From The Sprinkled Isles, Lily On Lily, That O'erlace The Sea.

Men Are Not Angels, Neither Are They Brutes.

One Who Never Turned His Back But Marched Breast Forward, Never Doubted Clouds Would Break, Never Dreamed, Though Right Were Worsted, Wrong Would Triumph, Held We Fall To Rise, Are Baffled To Fight Better, Sleep To Wake.

But Facts Are Facts And Flinch Not.

What Of Soul Was Left, I Wonder, When The Kissing Had To Stop?