Hope Is Not Found In A Way

Not Yesterday I Learned To Know The Love Of Bare November Days Before The Coming Of The Snow.

I Would Not Come In. I Meant Not Even If Asked, And I Hadn't Been.

Lovers, Forget Your Love And List To The Love Of These She A Window Flower And He A Winter Breeze.

I Heard Someone Say He [carl Sandburg] Was The Kind Of Writer Who Had Everything To Gain And Nothing To Lose By Being Translated Into Another Language.

A Poem May Be Worked Over Once It Is In Being, But May Not Be Worried Into Being.