Success Is Relative. It Is

I Take As Metaphysical Poetry That In Which What Is Ordinarily Apprehensible Only By Thought Is Brought Within The Grasp Of Feeling, Or That In Which What Is Ordinarily Only Felt Is Transformed Into Thought Without Ceasing To Be Feeling.

Of Lovers Whose Bodies Smell Of Each Other Who Think The Same Thoughts Without Need Of Speech

Shall I Part My Hair Behind Do I Dare To Eat A Peach I Shall Wear White Flannel Trousers, And Walk Upon The Beach. I Have Heard The Mermaids Singing, Each To Each. I Do Not Think That They Will Sing To Me.

Shall I Part My Hair Behind? Do I Dare To Eat A Peach?

Footfalls Echo In The Memory, Down The Passage We Did Not Take, Towards The Door We Never Opened, Into The Rose Garden.