I Could No More Define Poetry Than

Stars, I Have Seen Them Fall, But When They Drop And Die No Star Is Lost At All From All The Star-sown Sky. The Toil Of All That Be Helps Not The Primal Fault; It Rains Into The Sea And Still The Sea Is Salt.

Luck's A Chance, But Trouble's Sure.

Clay Lies Still, But Blood's A Rover; Breath's Aware That Will Not Keep. Up, Lad: When The Journey's Over Then There'll Be Time Enough To Sleep.

When The Journey's Over/there'll Be Time Enough To Sleep.

He Would Not Stay For Me, And Who Can Wonder? He Would Not Stay For Me To Stand And Gaze. I Shook His Hand, And Tore My Heart In Sunder, And Went With Half My Life About My Ways.