Art Is Like Politics. Any

Freighted With Hope, Crimsoned With Joy, We Scatter The Leaves Of Our Opening Rose.

You Are Ice And Fire The Touch Of You Burns My Hands Like Snow.

A Man Must Be Sacrificed Now And Again To Provide For The Next Generation Of Men.

How Hard, How Desperately Hard, Is The Way Of The Experimenter In Art!

Lilacs, False Blue, White, Purple, Colour Of Lilac, Your Great Puffs Of Flowers Are Everywhere In This My New England ... Lilacs In Dooryards Holding Quiet Conversation With An Early Moon; Lilacs Watching A Deserted House; ... Lilacs, Wind-beaten, Staggering Under A Lopsided Shock Of Bloom, You Are Everywhere.