Without Poetry The Soul And Heart Of

I Do Not Suppose That Anyone Not A Poet Can Realize The Agony Of Creating A Poem. Every Nerve, Even Every Muscle, Seems Strained To The Breaking Point. The Poem Will Not Be Denied; To Refuse To Write It Would Be A Greater Torture. It Tears Its Way Out Of The Brain, Splintering And Breaking Its Passage, And Leaves That Organ In The State Of A Jelly-fish When The Task Is Done.

Art Is The Desire Of A Man To Express Himself, To Record The Reactions Of His Personality To The World He Lives In.

Now You Are Come! You Tremble Like A Star Poised Where, Behind Earth's Rim, The Sun Has Set. Your Voice Has Sung Across My Heart, But Numb And Mute, I Have No Tones To Answer.

Sexual Love Is The Most Stupendous Fact Of The Universe, And The Most Magical Mystery Our Poor Blind Senses Know.

Brighter Than Fireflies Upon The Uji River Are Your Words In The Dark, Beloved.