Florence Farr once said to me, If we could say to ourselves, with sincerity, 'this passing moment is as good as any I shall ever know,' we could die upon the instant and be united with God.

When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, suddenly I meet your face.

Hearts with one purpose alone/Through summer and winter seem/Enchanted to a stone/To trouble the living stream.

I call on those that call me son, Grandson, or great-grandson, On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts, To judge what I have done. Have I, that put it into words, Spoilt what old loins have sent?

And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.

I balanced all, brought all to mind, the years to come seemed waste of breath, a waste of breath the years behind, in balance with this life, this death.

Supreme art is a traditional statement of certain heroic and religious truth, passed on from age to age, modified by individual genius, but never abandoned.