I Really Don't Know Enough About The

Poetry Will Absorb And Transmute, As It Always Has Done, And Glorify, All That We Can Know.

Ghostly Above Us In Lamplight The Towers Gleam ... And After A While They Will Fall To Dust And Rain; Or Else We Will Tear Them Down With Impatient Hands; And Hew Rock Out Of The Earth, And Build Them Again.

Music I Heard With You Was More Than Music, And Bread I Broke With You Was More Than Bread. Now That I Am Without You, All Is Desolate; All That Was Once So Beautiful Is Dead.

O Sweet Clean Earth, From Whom The Green Blade Cometh! When We Are Dead, My Best Beloved And I, Close Well Above Us, That We May Rest Forever, Sending Up Grass And Blossoms To The Sky.

For In This Walk, This Voyage, It Is Yourself, The Profound History Of Your 'self,' That Now As Always You Encounter.