But If I Can't Be Sorry, Why,

I Drank At Every Vine, The Last Was Like The First. I Came Upon No Wine So Wonderful As Thirst.

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

The Younger Generation Forms A Country Of Its Own. It Has No Geographical Boundaries. I've Talked With Young Hungarians In Budapest, With Young Italians In Rome, With Young Frenchmen In Paris, And With Young People All Over. ... These Young People Are Going To Do Things. They Are Going To Change Things.

He That Would Eat Of Love Must Eat It Where It Hangs.

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.