It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.
From Robert Browning
Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do!
A face to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with.
Measure your mind's height by the shade it casts.
But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?
Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away.
Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.
All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.
Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.
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