Yet Not With All Of Me Am

Noon, Ripe As Thunder And Silent As Thought, Had Fled Unfingered.

Cold Love’s The Loveliest Love Of All. So Clear, So Crisp, So Empty. In Short, So Civilized.

To Live At All Is Miracle Enough.

Years On End, And Swords On End - Where Will It End, If Our Ears Unbend - What Shall I Spend On A Wrinkled Friend In A Pair Of Tights Like A Bunch Of Lights?

What Is Time... That You Speak Of It So Subserviently? Are We To Be The Slaves Of The Sun, That Second-hand, Overrated Knob Of Gilt, Or Of His Sister, That Fatuous Circle Of Silver Paper? A Curse Upon Their Ridiculous Dictatorship!