Dear Sister, You dream like mad, you love like tinder, you aspire…

There’s too much beauty upon this earth For lonely men to bear.

A paradox is a truth standing on its head in order to attract attention.

Time’s horses gallop down the lessening hill.

Yea, howso we dream, Or how bravely we do; The end is the same, Be we traitor or true: And after the bloom And the passion is past

Art was a palace once, things great and fair, And strong and holy , found a temple there:

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—