Forgive me, Spirit of my spirit, for this, that I have found it easier to read the mystery told in tears and understood Thee better in sorrow than in joy.

Forgive me, Spirit of my spirit, for this, that I have found it easier to read the mystery told in tears and understood Thee better in sorrow than in joy.

We are tired who follow after fantasy and truth that flies: You with only look and laughter stain our hearts with richest dyes.

In the lost boyhood of Judas, Christ was betrayed.

Twilight, a timid, fawn, went glimmering by, and Night, the dark-blue hunter, followed fast.

Ah, to think how thin the veil that lies Between the pain of hell and Paradise.

A literary movement: five or six people who live in the same town and hate each other.