I Am Not A Nature Poet. There

But These Are Flowers That Fly And All But Sing: And Now From Having Ridden Out Desire They Lie Closed Over In The Wind And Cling Where Wheels Have Freshly Sliced The April Mire.

Nations Like The Cuban And The Swiss Can Never Hope To Wage A Global Mission. No Holy Wars For Them. The Most The Small Can Ever Give Us Is A Nuisance Brawl.

It Should Be Of The Pleasure Of A Poem Itself To Tell How It Can. The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom. The Figure Is The Same For Love.

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

It Is Only A Moment Here And A Moment There That The Greatest Writer Has. Some Cognizance Of The Fact Must Be Taken In Your Teaching.