Beautiful As A Dandelion-blossom Golden In The

I Will Come Back To You, I Swear I Will; And You Will Know Me Still. I Shall Be Only A Little Taller Than When I Went.

The Longest Absence Is Less Perilous To Love Than The Terrible Trials Of Incessant Proximity.

Here's A Song Was Never Sung: Growing Old Is Dying Young.

No One But Night, With Tears On Her Dark Face, Watches Beside Me In This Windy Place.

Spring To What Purpose, April, Do You Return Again? Beauty Is Not Enough. You Can No Longer Quiet Me With The Redness Of Little Leaves Opening Stickily. I Know What I Know. The Sun Is Hot On My Neck As I Observe The Spikes Of The Crocus. The Smell Of The Earth Is Good. It Is Apparent That There Is No Death. But What Does That Signify? Not Only Under Ground Are The Brains Of Men Eaten By Maggots. Life In Itself Is Nothing, An Empty Cup, A Flight Of Uncarpeted Stairs. It Is Not Enough That Yearly, Down This Hill, April Comes Like An Idiot, Babbling And Strewing Flowers.