All Actual Heroes Are Essential Men, And

The Beautiful Seems Right By Force Of Beauty And The Feeble Wrong Because Of Weakness.

My Sun Sets To Raise Again.

I Begin To Think That None Are So Bold As The Timid, When They Are Fairly Roused.

God Keeps A Niche In Heaven, To Hold Our Idols; And Albeit He Brake Them To Our Faces, And Denied That Our Close Kisses Should Impair Their White,-- I Know We Shall Behold Them Raised, Complete, The Dust Swept From Their Beauty, Glorified, New Memnons Singing In The Great God-light.

We Can't Separate Our Humanity From Our Poetry.