A Turning Point In Modern History.

Only God And I Knew What I Meant When I Wrote It, Now Only God Knows

Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know. His House Is In The Village Though; He Will Not See Me Stopping Here To Watch His Woods Fill Up With Snow.

One Age Is Like Another For The Soul.

A Poet Never Takes Notes. You Never Take Notes In A Love Affair.

Why Make So Much Of Fragmentary Blue In Here And There A Bird, Or Butterfly, Or Flower, Or Wearing-stone, Or Open Eye, When Heaven Presents In Sheets The Solid Hue?