Every Word Was Once A Poem.

The Great Majority Of Men Grow Up And Grow Old In Seeming And Following.

Love Not The Flower They Pluck And Know It Not, And All Their Botany Is Latin Names.

Nature Is Reckless Of The Individual. When She Has Points To Carry, She Carries Them.

The Only Gift Is A Portion Of Thyself . . . The Poet Brings His Poem; The Shepherd His Lamb. . . .

Everything In Creation Has Its Appointed Painter Or Poet And Remains In Bondage Like The Princess In The Fairy Tale 'til Its Appropriate Liberator Comes To Set It Free.