... But The Rain Is

A Grave Is Such A Quiet Place.

And He Whose Soul Is Flat -- The Sky Will Cave In On Him By And By.

But You Were Something More Than Young And Sweet And Fair, - And The Long Year Remembers You.

Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare. Let All Who Prate Of Beauty Hold Their Peace, And Lay Them Prone Upon The Earth And Cease To Ponder On Themselves, The While They Stare At Nothing, Intricately Drawn Nowhere In Shapes Of Shifting Lineage; Let Geese Gabble And Hiss, But Heroes Seek Release From Dusty Bondage Into Luminous Air. O Blinding Hour, O Holy, Terrible Day, When First The Shaft Into His Vision Shone Of Light Anatomized! Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare. Fortunate They Who, Though Once Only And Then But Far Away, Have Heard Her Massive Sandal Set On Stone.

O Troubled Forms, O Early Love Unfortunate And Hard, Time Has Estranged You Into A Jewel Cold And Pure