In Old Age We Are Like A

In Old Age We Are Like A Batch Of Letters That Someone Has Sent. We Are No Longer In The Past, We Have Arrived.

What Will I Do When I Can No Longer Dig?

When Good Befalls A Man He Calls It Providence, When Evil Fate.

The Heavy Red Roses Smoldering In The Foggy Morning, Blood-colored And Uninhibited, Made Me Greedy, And Tempted Me Powerfully To Steal One--i Asked The Prices Merely So I Could Come As Near Them As Possible.

I Have Had Much To Learn From Sweden's Poetry And, More Especially, From Her Lyrics Of The Last Generation.