Poetry Is Talking On Tiptoe.

Full Lasting Is The Song, Though He, / The Singer, Passes.

And If I Drink Oblivion Of A Day, / So Shorten I The Stature Of My Soul.

I Expect Woman Will Be The Last Thing Civilized By Man.

Not Till The Fire Is Dying In The Grate, Look We For Any Kinship With The Stars. Oh, Wisdom Never Comes When It Is Gold, And The Great Price We Paid For It Full Worth: We Have It Only When We Are Half Earth. Little Avails That Coinage To The Old!

The Man Or Country That Fights Priestcraft And Priests Is To My Mind Striking Deeper For Freedom Than Can Be Struck Anywhere.