It Is True, That It

How Far The Gulf-stream Of Our Youth May Flow Into The Arctic Regions Of Our Lives, Where Little Else Than Life Itself Survives.

Were A Star Quenched On High,for Ages Would Its Light,still Travelling Downward From The Sky,shine On Our Mortal Sight. So When A Great Man Dies,for Years Beyond Our Ken,the Light He Leaves Behind Him Liesupon The Paths Of Men.

The Smoking Flax Before It Burst To Flame Was Quenched By Death, And Broken The Bruised Reed.

Nothing That Is Can Pause Or Stay; / The Moon Will Wax, The Moon Will Wane, / The Mist And Cloud Will Turn To Rain, / The Rain To Mist And Cloud Again, / Tomorrow Be Today.

The Picture That Approaches Sculpture Nearest Is The Best Picture.