The Artist Is The Child

When'er Into Thine Eyes I See, All Pain And Sorrow Fly From Me. [ger., Wenn Ich In Deine Augen Sch' So Schwindet All' Mein Leid Und Weh.]

He Who Fights With Priests May Make Up His Mind To Have His Poor Good Name Torn And Befouled By The Most Infamous Lies And The Most Cutting Slanders.

Like A Great Poet, Nature Produces The Greatest Results With The Simplest Means. These Are Simply A Sun, Trees, Flowers, Water And Love. Of Course, If The Spectator Be Without The Last, The Whole Will Present But A Pitiful Appearance, And In That Case, The Sun Is Merely So Many Miles In Diameter, The Trees Are Good For Fuel, The Flowers Are Classified By Stamens, And The Water Is Simply Wet.

But A Day Must Come When The Fire Of Youth Will Be Quenched In My Veins, When Winter Will Dwell In My Heart, When His Snow Flakes Will Whiten My Locks, And His Mists Will Dim My Eyes. Then My Friends Will Lie In Their Lonely Grave, And I Alone Will Remain Like A Solitary Stalk Forgotten By The Reaper.

Round My Cradle Shimmered The Last Moonbeams Of The Eighteenth Century And The First Morning Rays Of The Nineteenth.