A . . . Poet Is A

Nothing Is Built On Stone; All Is Built On Sand, But We Must Build As If The Sand Were Stone.

Time Is A Fire That Consumes Me, But I Am The Fire.

I Will Pause To Consider This Eternity From Which The Subsequent Ones Derive.

I Am Interested In The Past. Perhaps One Of The Reasons Is We Cannot Make, Cannot Change The Past. I Mean You Can Hardly Unmake The Present. But The Past After All Is Merely To Say A Memory, A Dream. You Know My Own Past Seems Continually Changed When I Am Remembering It, Or Reading Things That Are Interesting To Me.

The Truth Is That We Live Out Our Lives Putting Off All That Can Be Put Off; Perhaps We All Know Deep Down That We Are Immortal And That Sooner Or Later All Men Will Do And Know All Things.