The romantic intoning, the declaimed clairvoyance Are parts of apotheosis, appropriate And of its nature, the idiom thereof. - Wallace Stevens

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams
And our desires.

His petty syllabi, the sounds that stick, Inevitably modulating, in the blood. And war for war, each has its gallant kind. <p>How simply the fictive hero becomes the real; How gladly with proper words the solider dies, If he must, or lives on the bread of faithful speech.