... All Ugliness Passes, And Beauty Endures,

The Poet Is The Complete Lover Of Mankind.

Winter Is The Time For Comfort, For Good Food And Warmth, For The Touch Of A Friendly Hand And For A Talk Beside The Fire: It Is The Time For Home.

I'm Dying, But Otherwise I'm In Very Good Health.

I'm Afraid I'm Being An Awful Nuisance.

The Last Faint Spark In The Self-murdered Heart, The Wounds Of The Sad Uncomprehending Dark, The Wounds Of The Baited Bear,-- The Blind And Weeping Bear Whom The Keepers Beat On His Helpless Flesh . . . The Tears Of The Hunted Hare.