Love Is The Every Only

All Which Isn't Singing Is Mere Talking... And All Talking's To Oneself Alone But The Very Song Of (as Mountains Feel And Lovers) Singing Is Silence.

Time Cannot Children,poets,lovers Tell- Measure Imagine,mystery,a Kiss -not Though Mankind Would Rather Know Than Feel

I Thank You God For This Most Amazing Day, For The Leaping Greenly Spirits Of Trees, And For The Blue Dream Of Sky And For Everything Which Is Natural, Which Is Infinite, Which Is Yes.

I'd Rather Have Two Good Friends, Than 500,000 Admirers.

So Far As I Am Concerned, Poetry And Every Other Art Was, Is, And Forever Will Be Strictly And Distinctly A Question Of Individuality.