They Import And They Consume Reality.

I Hate My Verses, Every Line, Every Word. Oh Pale And Brittle Pencils Ever To Try One Grass-blade's Curve, Or The Throat Of One Bird That Clings To Twig, Ruffled Against White Sky. Oh Cracked And Twilight Mirrors Ever To Catch One Color, One Glinting Flash, Of The Splendor Of Things.

Know That However Ugly The Parts Appear The Whole Remains Beautiful... ... The Wholeness Of Life And Things, The Divine Beauty Of The Universe. Love That, Not Man Apart From That, Or Else You Will Share Man's Pitiful Confusions, Or Drown In Despair When His Days Darken.

I Believe That The Universe Is One Being, All Its Parts Are Different Expressions Of The Same Energy... Parts Of One Organic Whole.... (this Is Physics, I Believe, As Well As Religion.) The Parts Change And Pass, Or Die, People And Races And Rocks And Stars; None Of Them Seems To Me Important In Itself, But Only The Whole. This Whole Is In All Its Parts So Beautiful, And Is Felt By Me To Be So Intensely In Earnest, That I Am Compelled To Love It, And To Think Of It As Divine.

He Is Strong And Pain Is Worse To The Strong, Incapacity Is Worse.

You Making Haste On Decay: Not Blameworthy; Life Is Good, Be It Stubbornly Long Or Suddenly A Mortal Splendor: Meteors Are Not Needed Less Than Mountains: Shine, Perishing Republic.