Because I Know That Time Is Always

I Am No Prophet-and Here's No Great Matter.

When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly And Paces About Her Room Again, Alone, She Smooths Her Hair With Automatic Hand, And Puts A Record On The Gramophone.

Uncorseted, Her Friendly Bust Gives Promise Of Pneumatic Bliss.

The Naming Of Cats Is A Difficult Matter

Bad Poets Imitate, Good Poets Steal.