I Shall Go Up And Down In

Rapture's Self Is Three Parts Sorrow.

Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It Is A Drowning.

When Trying To Explain Anything, I Usually Find That The Bible, That Great Collection Of Magnificent And Varied Poetry, Has Said It Before In The Best Possible Way.

Without Poetry The Soul And Heart Of Man Starves And Dies.

How Much More Beautiful Is The Moon, Slanting Down The Gauffered Branches Of A Plum-tree; The Moon Wavering Across A Bed Of Tulips; The Moon, Still, Upon Your Face. You Shine, Beloved, You And The Moon. But Which Is The Reflection?