Fifteen Millions Of Soldiers With

Moon! Moon! I Am Prone Before You. Pity Me,and Drench Me In Loneliness.

Youth Condemns; Maturity Condones

My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

Great Emotion Always Tends To Become Rhythmic, And Out Of That Tendency The Forms Of Art Have Been Evolved. Art Becomes Artificial Only When The Forms Take Precedence Over The Emotion.

Time! Joyless Emblem Of The Greed Of Millions, Robber Of The Best Which Earth Can Give.