There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

Hammer your thoughts into unity.

Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.

No man has ever lived that had enough of children's gratitude or woman's love.

Art bids us touch and taste and hear and see the world, and shrinks from what Blake calls mathematic form, from every abstract form, from all that is of the brain only.

THOUGH you are in your shining days, Voices among the crowd And new friends busy with your praise, Be not unkind or proud, But think about old friends the most: Time's bitter flood will rise, Your beauty perish and be lost For all eyes but these eyes.

The intellect of man is forced to choose Perfection of the life, or of the work And if it take the second must refuse A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.