There Are Noble Books But One Wants

Life Is Richly Worth Living, With Its Continual Revelations Of Mighty Woe, Yet Infinite Hope; And I Take It To My Breast.

But The Golden-rod Is One Of The Fairy, Magical Flowers; It Grows Not Up To Seek Human Love Amid The Light Of Day, But To Mark To The Discerning What Wealth Lies Hid In The Secret Caves Of Earth.

What I Mean By The Muse Is That Unimpeded Clearness Of The Intuitive Powers, Which A Perfectly Truthful Adherence To Every Admonition Of The Higher Instincts Would Bring To A Finely Organized Human Being. It May Appear As Prophesy Or As Poesy...should These Faculties Have Free Play, I Believe They Will Open Up New, Deeper And Purer Sources Of Joyous Inspiration Than Have As Yet Refreshed The Earth.

I Stand In The Sunny Noon Of Life. Objects No Longer Glitter In The Dews Of Morning, Neither Are Yet Softened By The Shadows Of Evening.

Be What You Would Seem To Be.