Tradition, Thou Art For Suckling Children, Thou

I Saw A Man Pursuing The Horizon

A Learned Man Came To Me Once. He Said, "i Know The Way, -- Come." And I Was Overjoyed At This. Together We Hastened. Soon, Too Soon, Were We Where My Eyes Were Useless, And I Knew Not The Ways Of My Feet. I Clung To The Hand Of My Friend; But At Last He Cried, "i Am Lost.

Truth ... Is A Breath, A Wind, A Shadow, A Phantom; Long Have I Pursued It, But Never Have I Touched The Hem Of Its Garment.

Mother, Whose Heart Hung Humble As A Button The Bright Splendid Shroud Of Your Son, Do Not Weep. War Is Kind.

In The Swirling Rain That Came At Dusk The Broad Avenue Glistened With That Deep Bluish Tint Which Is So Widely Condemned When It Is Put Into Pictures.