The Question That He Frames In All

I Have Stood Still And Stopped The Sound Of Feet When Far Away An Interrupted Cry Came Over Houses From Another Street, But Not To Call Me Back Or Say Good-bye.

Hell Is A Half-filled Auditorium.

Now No Joy But Lacks Salt That Is Not Dashed With Pain And Weariness And Fault; I Crave The Stain Of Tears, The Aftermark Of Almost Too Much Love, The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

Americans Are Like A Rich Father Who Wishes He Knew How To Give His Son The Hardships That Made Him Rich.

Yet Some Say Love By Being Thrall And Simply Staying Possesses All In Several Beauty That Thought Fares Far To Find Fused In Another Star.