Fresh undergrowths of formulæ. Through these no human eye can see
The open glade—the last crusade, in which Jerusalem might be
The symbol of all peopled space, and Time an emblem of the day
On which the nations march as one to liberate and not to slay.
A story has no finish when it leads to nowhere out of ken?
O friend, the lack of knowledge brings wisdom within the reach of men;
For whether hope can ever fit the future matters not a whit.
My duty is to tug my oar—so long as I am chained to it.