The Powers Of The Soul Are Commensurate

Every Word Was Once A Poem.

The Soul Knows No Persons.

Life Is Too Short To Waste . . . 'twill Soon Be Dark; Up! Mind Thine Own Aim, And God Speed The Mark!

Power Resides In The Moment Of Transition From A Past To A New State.

Rhodora! If The Sages Ask Thee Why This Charm Is Wasted On The Earth And Sky, Tell Them, Dear, That If Eyes Were Made For Seeing, Then Beauty Is Its Own Excuse For Being.