Polyphonic Prose Is A Kind

Now You Are Come! You Tremble Like A Star Poised Where, Behind Earth's Rim, The Sun Has Set. Your Voice Has Sung Across My Heart, But Numb And Mute, I Have No Tones To Answer.

How Much More Beautiful Is The Moon, Slanting Down The Gauffered Branches Of A Plum-tree; The Moon Wavering Across A Bed Of Tulips; The Moon, Still, Upon Your Face. You Shine, Beloved, You And The Moon. But Which Is The Reflection?

Sexual Love Is The Most Stupendous Fact Of The Universe, And The Most Magical Mystery Our Poor Blind Senses Know.

Poetry, Far More Than Fiction, Reveals The Soul Of Humanity.

All Recurring Joy Is Pain Refined.