Truth—Goodness—Beauty—those celestial thrins,
Continually are born; e'en now the Universe,
With thousand throats—and eke with greener smiles,
Its joy confesses at their recent birth.
by Robert HillyerThe long canoe
Toward the shadowy shore,
One... Two...
Three... Four...
The paddle dips,
Turns in the wake,
Pauses, then
Forward again.
Water drips
From the blade to the lake.
Nothing but ...