An Idea Comes As Near To Something

Not To Sink Under Being Man And Wife, But Get Some Color And Music Out Of Life?

My Sorrow, When She's Here With Me, Thinks These Dark Days Of Autumn Rain Are Beautiful As Days Can Be; She Loves The Bare, The Withered Tree; She Walks The Sodden Pasture Lane.

Pressed Into Service Means Pressed Out Of Shape.

I Have Stood Still And Stopped The Sound Of Feet When Far Away An Interrupted Cry Came Over Houses From Another Street, But Not To Call Me Back Or Say Good-bye.

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