Make Us Happy And You Make Us

Open My Heart, And You Will See Graved Inside Of It ‘italy.'

I Want To Know A Butcher Paints, A Baker Rhymes For His Pursuit, Candlestick-maker Much Acquaints His Soul With Song, Or, Haply Mute, Blows Out His Brains Upon The Flute.

Man Partly Is And Wholly Hopes To Be.

He Guides Me And The Bird. In His Good Time!

I, Painting From Myself And To Myself, Know What I Do, Am Unmoved By Men's Blame Or Their Praise Either.