I Always Entertain Great Hopes.

The World Is Full Of Willing People; Some Willing To Work, The Rest Willing To Let Them.

The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom.

The Old Dog Barks Backward Without Getting Up I Can Remember When He Was A Pup.

The Tree The Tempest With A Crash Of Wood Throws Down In Front Of Us Is Not To Bar Our Passage To Our Journey's End For Good, But Just To Ask Us Who We Think We Are.

Why Make So Much Of Fragmentary Blue In Here And There A Bird, Or Butterfly, Or Flower, Or Wearing-stone, Or Open Eye, When Heaven Presents In Sheets The Solid Hue?