A Turning Point In Modern History.

I Have Wished A Bird Would Fly Away, And Not Sing By My House All Day; Have Clapped My Hands At Him From The Door When It Seemed As If I Could Bear No More. The Fault Must Partly Have Been In Me. The Bird Was Not To Blame For His Key. And Of Course There Must Be Something Wrong In Wanting To Silence Any Song.

Before I Built A Wall I'd Ask To Know What I Was Walling In Or Walling Out, And To Whom I Was Like To Give Offence. Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall, That Wants It Down.

For I Thought Epicurus And Lucretius By Nature Meant The Whole Goddam Machinery.

By Working Faithfully Eight Hours A Day You May Eventually Get To Be Boss And Work Twelve Hours A Day.

When The Spent Sun Throws Up Its Rays On Cloud And Goes Down Burning Into The Gulf Below, No Voice In Nature Is Heard To Cry Aloud At What Has Happened. Birds, At Least Must Know It Is The Change To Darkness In The Sky. Murmuring Something Quiet In Her Breast, One Bird Begins To Close A Faded Eye; Or Overtaken Too Far From His Nest, Hurrying Low Above The Grove, Some Waif Swoops Just In Time To His Remembered Tree. At Most He Thinks Or Twitters Softly, 'safe! Now Let The Night Be Dark For All Of Me. Let The Night Be Too Dark For Me To See Into The Future. Let What Will Be, Be.