Folded Eyes See Brighter Colors Than The

Think, In Mounting Higher, The Angels Would Press On Us, And Aspire To Drop Some Golden Orb Of Perfect Song Into Our Deep, Dear Silence.

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless; That Only Men Incredulous Of Despair, Half-taught In Anguish, Through The Midnight Air Beat Upward To God's Throne In Loud Access Of Shrieking And Reproach

Light Tomorrow With Today!

We Can't Separate Our Humanity From Our Poetry.

Books Succeed; And Lives Fail.