Because Thou Must Not Dream, Thou Need

Culture Is Both An Intellectual Phenomenon And A Moral One

Dreams Dawn And Fly: Friends Smile And Die, Like Spring Flowers. Our Vaunted Life Is One Long Funeral. Men Dig Graves, With Bitter Tears, For Their Dead Hopes; And All, Mazed With Doubts, And Sick With Fears, Count The Hours.

The Sea Of Faith Was Once, Too, At The Full, And Round Earth's Shore Lay Like The Folds Of A Bright Girdle Furled. But Now I Only Hear Its Melancholy, Long, Withdrawing Roar, Retreating, To The Breath Of The Night-wind, Down The Vast Edges Drear And Naked Shingles Of The World.

It Is - Last Stage Of All When We Are Frozen Up Within, And Quite The Phantom Of Ourselves To Hear The World Applaud The Hollow Ghost Which Blamed The Living Man

All The Live Murmur Of A Summer's Day.