Poetry Is Play. I'd Even

More Men Die Of Worry Than Of Work, Because More Men Worry Than Work.

If One By One We Counted People Out For The Least Sin, It Wouldn't Take Us Long To Get So We Had No One Left To Live With. For To Be Social Is To Be Forgiving.

But I May Be One Who Does Not Care Ever To Have Tree Bloom Or Bear.

A Poem Begins With A Lump In The Throat

Two Such As You With Such A Master Speed, Cannot Be Parted Nor Be Swept Away, From One Another Once You Are Agreed, That Life Is Only Life Forevermore, Together Wing To Wing And Oar To Oar.