The Poet in his ArtMust intimate the whole, and say the smallest part.

I sing the hymn of the conquered, who fell in the Battle of Life,-The hymn of the wounded, the beaten, who died overwhelmed in the strife....The hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the broken in heart,Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desperate part.

Of every noble work the silent part is best; of all expression, that which cannot be expressed.

The Poet in his ArtMust intimate the whole, and say the smallest part.

But the gray and the cold are haunted by a beauty akin to pain, by a sense of a something wanted that never will come again.