But If, As Morning Rises, Dreams Are

This Sorrow Weighs Upon The Melancholy Souls Of Those Who Lived Without Infamy Or Praise.

And We Came Forth To Contemplate The Stars.

Heat Cannot Be Separated From Fire, Or Beauty From The Eternal.

O Conscience, Upright And Stainless, How Bitter A Sting To Thee Is A Little Fault!

All Of Nature Is God's Art.