I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.

There is no such thing as a dumb poet or a handless painter. The essence of an artist is that he should be articulate.

The sweetest flowers in all the world- A baby's hands.

Change lays not her hand upon truth.

Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.

Thou has conquered, O pale Galilean.

Who knows but on their sleep may rise Such light as never heaven let through To lighten earth from Paradise?