Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men.

His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.

If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

Thou large-brain'd woman and large-hearted man.

God Himself is the best Poet, And the Real is His song.