One Starts An Action Simply

The Role Of Art Is Not To Express The Personality But To Overcome It.

When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly And Paces About Her Room Again, Alone, She Smooths Her Hair With Automatic Hand, And Puts A Record On The Gramophone.

O Father, Father Gone From Us, Lost To Us, The Church Lies Bereft, Alone, Desecrated, Desolated. And The Heathen Shall Build On The Ruins Their World Without God. I See It. I See It.

Each Way Means Loneliness -- And Communion.

And Through The Spaces Of The Dark Midnight Shakes The Memory As A Madman Shakes A Dead Geranium.