And The Case Of Butterflies So Rich

Most People Know More As They Get Older: I Give All That The Cold Shoulder.

Many Famous Feet Have Trod Sublunary Paths, And Famous Hands Have Weighed The Strength They Have Against The Strength They Need; And Famous Lips Interrogated God Concerning Franchise In Eternity.

But, O, Photography! As No Art Is,faithful And Disappointing! That Recordsdull Days As Dull, And Hold-it Smiles As Frauds,and Will Not Censor Blemishes,like Washing-lines, And Hall's-distemper Boards

Now, Helpless In The Hollow Of An Unarmorial Age, A Trough Of Smoke In Slow Suspended Skeins Above Their Scrap Of History, Only An Attitude Remains: Time Has Transfigured Them Into Untruth. The Stone Finality They Hardly Meant Has Come To Be Their Final Blazon, And To Prove Our Almost-instinct Almost True: What Will Survive Of Us Is Love.

Uncontradicting Solitude Supports Me On Its Giant Palm; And Like A Sea-anemone Or Simple Snail, There Cautiously Unfolds, Emerges, What I Am.