So be my passing! My task accomplished and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart Some late lark singing, Let me be gathered in the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death.

It is the artist's function not to copy but to synthesise: to eliminate from that gross confusion of actuality which is his raw material whatever is accidental, idle, irrelevant, and select for perpetuation that only which is appropriate and immortal.

Here is the ghost _x000D_ _x000D_ Of a summer that lived for us, _x000D_ _x000D_ Ere is a promise _x000D_ _x000D_ Of summer to be.

I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.