The Sad Rhyme Of The Men Who

And I Have Written Three Books On The Soul, Proving Absurd All Written Hitherto, And Putting Us To Ignorance Again.

But How Carve Way I' The Life That Lies Before, If Bent On Groaning Ever For The Past?

Of What I Call God, And Fools Call Nature.

All Good Things Are Ours, Nor Soul Helps Flesh More, Now, Than Flesh Helps Soul!

Other Heights In Other Lives, God Willing.