Time’s horses gallop down the lessening hill

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

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

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

Dear Sister, You dream like mad, you love like tinder, you aspire like a star-struck moth - for what? That you may hive little lyrics, and sell to a publisher for thirty pieces of silver.

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

I look'd far back into the past, and lo! in bright array, I saw, as in a dream, the forms of ages pass'd away. It was a stately convent, with its old and lofty walls, And gardens with their broad green walks, where soft the footstep falls.