QUATRAINS.
TOLSTOI.
He calls, from the hot road to us, who strayIn shady pleasant woods abroad,—Yes, Tolstoi, your path leads to God,But through the forest theremaybe a way.
He calls, from the hot road to us, who strayIn shady pleasant woods abroad,—Yes, Tolstoi, your path leads to God,But through the forest theremaybe a way.
He calls, from the hot road to us, who stray
In shady pleasant woods abroad,—
Yes, Tolstoi, your path leads to God,
But through the forest theremaybe a way.
IBSEN.
A cannon shot, not fired to kill,But to dislodge and make to riseThe decomposing corpse that liesBeneath life’s surface, smooth and still.Claude F. Bragdon.
A cannon shot, not fired to kill,But to dislodge and make to riseThe decomposing corpse that liesBeneath life’s surface, smooth and still.Claude F. Bragdon.
A cannon shot, not fired to kill,But to dislodge and make to riseThe decomposing corpse that liesBeneath life’s surface, smooth and still.
A cannon shot, not fired to kill,
But to dislodge and make to rise
The decomposing corpse that lies
Beneath life’s surface, smooth and still.
Claude F. Bragdon.
Claude F. Bragdon.
SUCCESS.
Without one thought in his wide, empty brain(For Reason never sowed a seed to grow),He sits and writes page after page—no strain;Why? Chaff is cheap and sometimes looks like grain.
Without one thought in his wide, empty brain(For Reason never sowed a seed to grow),He sits and writes page after page—no strain;Why? Chaff is cheap and sometimes looks like grain.
Without one thought in his wide, empty brain
(For Reason never sowed a seed to grow),
He sits and writes page after page—no strain;
Why? Chaff is cheap and sometimes looks like grain.
EUMENIDES.
All kindred gods have crumbled into dustThough latest born of that once teeming womb.Ye yet abide who shall not taste a tomb—Of passion, gold, and fame the lashing lust.Philip Becker Goetz.
All kindred gods have crumbled into dustThough latest born of that once teeming womb.Ye yet abide who shall not taste a tomb—Of passion, gold, and fame the lashing lust.Philip Becker Goetz.
All kindred gods have crumbled into dustThough latest born of that once teeming womb.Ye yet abide who shall not taste a tomb—Of passion, gold, and fame the lashing lust.
All kindred gods have crumbled into dust
Though latest born of that once teeming womb.
Ye yet abide who shall not taste a tomb—
Of passion, gold, and fame the lashing lust.
Philip Becker Goetz.
Philip Becker Goetz.