Will That Light Come Again, As Now

There Shakespeare, On Whose Forehead Climb The Crowns O' The World; Oh, Eyes Sublime With Tears And Laughter For All Time!

Our Euripides The Human, With His Droppings Of Warm Tears, And His Touchings Of Things Common Till They Rose To Meet The Spheres.

Don't Get Me Wrong-painting's All Right. But Now That We Have Photography, What's The Point?

And Yet, Because I Love Thee, I Obtain From That Same Love This Vindicating Grace, To Live On Still In Love, And Yet In Vain

We Have Hearts Within, Warm, Live, Improvident, Indecent Hearts.