Wherever there is a grain of loyalty there is a glimpse of freedom.
Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.
Thou has conquered, O pale Galilean.
Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time with a gift of tears, Grief with a glass that ran .
There is no such thing as a dumb poet or a handless painter. The essence of an artist is that he should be articulate.
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.