Freedom Is When You Are Easy In

Skepticism, Is That Anything More Than We Used To Mean When We Said, Well, What Have We Here?

A Breeze Discovered My Open Book And Began To Flutter The Leaves To Look

What Is Done Is Done For The Love Of It- Or Not Really Done At All.

The Sun Was Warm But The Wind Was Chill. You Know How It Is With An April Day.

It Is Absurd To Think That The Only Way To Tell If A Poem Is Lasting Is To Wait And See If It Lasts. The Right Reader Of A Good Poem Can Tell The Moment It Strikes Him That He Has Taken An Immortal Wound-that He Will Never Get Over It.