Happiness: We Rarely Feel It. I Would

Lilacs, False Blue, White, Purple, Colour Of Lilac, Your Great Puffs Of Flowers Are Everywhere In This My New England ... Lilacs In Dooryards Holding Quiet Conversation With An Early Moon; Lilacs Watching A Deserted House; ... Lilacs, Wind-beaten, Staggering Under A Lopsided Shock Of Bloom, You Are Everywhere.

Art Is Like Politics. Any Theory Carried Too Far Ends In Sterility, And Freshness Is Only Gained By Following Some Other Line.

How Loud Clocks Can Tick When A Room Is Empty, And One Is Alone!

Oh! To Be A Butterfly Still, Upon A Flower, Winking With Its Painted Wings, Happy In The Hour.

In My Stiff, Brocaded Gown. With My Powdered Hair And Jeweled Fan, I Too Am A Rare Pattern.