A True Sonnet Goes Eight Lines And

The Rose Is A Rose, And Was Always A Rose. But The Theory Now Goes That The Apple's A Rose.

It Is Absurd To Think That The Only Way To Tell If A Poem Is Lasting Is To Wait And See If It Lasts. The Right Reader Of A Good Poem Can Tell The Moment It Strikes Him That He Has Taken An Immortal Wound-that He Will Never Get Over It.

Nature Is Always Hinting At Us. It Hints Over And Over Again. And Suddenly We Take The Hint.

The Rose Is A Rose, And Was Always A Rose. But The Theory Now Goes That The Apple's A Rose, And The Pear Is, And So's The Plum, I Suppose. The Dear Only Knows What Will Next Prove A Rose. You, Of Course, Are A Rose - But Were Always A Rose.

There Never Was Any Heart Truly Great And Generous, That Was Not Also Tender And Compassionate.