There Is Nothing The Body

Poetry Is Talking On Tiptoe.

Sentimentalists Are They Who Seek To Enjoy Without Incurring The Immense Debtorship For A Thing Done.

Earth, The Mother Of All, Moves On Her Stedfast Way, Gathering, Flinging, Sowing. Mortals, We Live In Her Day, She In Her Children Is Growing.

A Witty Woman Is A Treasure; A Witty Beauty Is A Power.

Not Till The Fire Is Dying In The Grate, Look We For Any Kinship With The Stars.