Art Is A Mystery. A

A Wind Has Blown The Rain Away And Blown The Sky Away And All The Leaves Away, And The Trees Stand. I Think, I Too, Have Known Autumn Too Long.

May Came Home With A Smooth Round Stone As Small As A World And As Large As Alone.

The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

It Takes Three To Make A Child.

And Still The Mad Magnificent Herald Spring Assembles Beauty From Forgetfulness With The Wild Trump Of April:witchery Of Sound And Odour Drives The Wingless Thing Man Forth In The Bright Air.