How Shall We Praise The Magnificence Of

I Think We've Come To A Kind Of Splinter Period In Poetry. These Tiny Little Bright Fragments Of Observation - And Not Produced Under Sufficient Pressure - Some Of It's Very Skillful, But I Don't Think There's Anywhere A Discernible Major Poet In The Process Of Emerging; Or If He Is, I Ain't Seen Him.

Death Is One Dream Out Of Another Flowing.

I'm Afraid I Wasn't Much Of A Student, But My Casual Reading Was Enormous.

I Love You, What Star Do You Live On?

The One You Love Leans Forward, Smiles, Deceives You, Opens A Door Through Which You See Dark Dreams.