I'm Afraid I Wasn't Much Of A

[at A Musical Concert:] . . . The Music's Pure Algebra Of Enchantment.

Oh, I've Discarded A Great Many [poems]. And Occasionally I've Discarded And Then Resurrected. I Would Find A Crumpled Yellow Ball Of Paper In The Wastebasket, In The Morning, And Open It To See What The Hell I'd Been Up To; And Occasionally It Was Something That Needed Only A Very Slight Change To Be Brought Off, Which I'd Missed The Day Before.

I Think There's An Enormous Lot Of Talent Around, And Somewhere Amongst These I'm Sure That Something Will Emerge, Given Time.

Death Is A Meeting Place Of Sea And Sea.

My Heart Has Become As Hard As A City Street, The Horses Trample Upon It, It Sings Like Iron, All Day Long And All Night Long They Beat, They Ring Like The Hooves Of Time.