Both T.s. Eliot And I Like To

Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall, And Wants It Down.

The Rain To The Wind Said, You Push And I'll Pelt.' They So Smote The Garden Bed That The Flowers Actually Knelt, And Lay Lodged--though Not Dead. I Know How The Flowers Felt.

No Memory Of Having Starred Atones For Later Disregard, Or Keeps The End From Being Hard.

I'm Not A Teacher, But An Awakener.

There Are Few Sorrows, However Poignant, In Which A Good Income Is Of No Avail.