If God Is Thy Father, Human Beings

Sad Is His Lot, Who, Once At Least In His Life, Has Not Been A Poet.

What Mortal Is There, Over Whose First Joys And Happiness Does Not Break Some Storm, Dispelling With Its Icy Breath His Fanciful Illusions, And Shattering His Altar?

Yet, In These Autumn Days When Nature Expires, Here, In These Veiled Scenes, I Find More Attractions; It Is A Friend's Sad Goodbye; It Is The Last Smile From Lips That Death Is Going To Close Forever!

Man, Man, Is Thy Brother, And Thy Father Is God.

An Artist Should Have More Than Two Eyes.