Time Is A Great Teacher, Who Can

I Had Taken A Course In Ethics. I Read A Thick Textbook, Heard The Class Discussions And Came Out Of It Saying I Hadn't Learned A Thing I Didn't Know Before About Morals And What Is Right Or Wrong In Human Conduct.

Poetry Is A Fresh Morning Spider-web Telling A Story Of Moonlit Hours Of Weaving And Waiting During A Night.

I Have Written Some Poetry That I Don't Understand Myself.

We Read Robert Browning's Poetry. Here We Needed No Guidance From The Professor: The Poems Themselves Were Enough.

Didn't You Tie The Mittens On Her Feet (wednesday Evening's) Extra Special Nice? Yes--she Is An Extra Special Nice Pigeon. She Cries For Pity When She Wants Pity. And She Shuts Her Eyes When She Doesn't Want To Look At You. And If You Look Deep In Her Eyes When Her Eyes Are Open You Will See Lights There Exactly Like The Lights On The Pastures And The Meadows When The Mist Is Drifting On A Wednesday Evening Just Between The Twilight And Gloaming.