Man, One May Say, Was

The Empire Of Saturnus Is Gone By; Lord Of The Secret Birth Of Things Is He; Within The Lap Of Earth, And In The Depths Of The Imagination Dominates; And His Are All Things That Eschew The Light. The Time Is O'er Of Brooding And Contrivance, For Jupiter, The Lustrous, Lordeth Now, And The Dark Work, Complete Of Preparation, He Draws By Force Into The Realm Of Light. Now Must We Hasten On To Action, Ere The Scheme, And Most Auspicious Positure Parts O'er My Head, And Takes Once More Its Flight, For The Heavens Journey Still, And Adjourn Not.

No, No! I Do Nature Injustice. She Gave Us Inventive Faculty, And Set Us Naked, And Helpless On The Shore Of This Great Ocean,--the World; Swim Those Who Can, The Heavy May Go To The Bottom.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.

The Painter Is, As To The Execution Of His Work, A Mechanic; But As To His Conception And Spirit And Design He Is Hardly Below Even The Poet.

Dare To Err And To Dream. Deep Meaning Often Lies In Childish Plays.