nd o iful floher flowers.

    And my neigo beo me, quot;umn comes again, at seeding time,  give us of t we may ;

    It is indeed misery if I stretcy o men and receive not it is retco receive.

    I long for eternity because t my unten poems and my unpainted pictures.

    Art is a step from nature toe.

    A  is a mist carved into an image.

    Even t make croter than idle hands.

    Our most sacred tears never seek our eyes.

    Every man is t of every king and every slave t ever lived.

    If t-grandfat was  ood in awe of himself?

    as the love of Mary for Jesus?

    t yet recorded in t t   hough conquered.

    Crucified One, you are crucified upon my ; and t pierce your .

    And tomorro kno two bled here.

    the blood of one man.

    You may ain.

    It is t mountain in our world.

    S you o descend and be  valley.

    t is ain.

    Every t I  free by my deeds.