It Is Only A Little Planet, But

Well: The Day Is A Poem But Too Much Like One Of Jeffers's, Crusted With Blood And Barbaric Omens Painful To Excess, Inhuman As A Hawk's Cry.

Long Live Freedom And Damn The Ideologies.

Truly Men Hate The Truth; They'd Liefer Meet A Tiger On The Road.

The Heads Of Strong Old Age Are Beautiful Beyond All Grace Of Youth.

O That Our Souls Could Scale A Height Like This, A Mighty Mountain Swept O'er By The Bleak Keen Winds Of Heaven; And, Standing On That Peak Above The Blinding Clouds Of Prejudice, Would We Could See All Truly As It Is; The Calm Eternal Truth Would Keep Us Meek.