My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

Underneath My Stiffened Gown Is The Softness Of A Woman Bathing In A Marble Basin

I Should Like To Bring A Case To Trial: Prosperity Versus Beauty, Cash Registers Teetering In A Balance Against The Comfort Of The Soul.

To-night When The Full-bellied Moon Swallows The Stars. Grant That I Know.

Moon! Moon! I Am Prone Before You. Pity Me,and Drench Me In Loneliness.

I Do Not Suppose That Anyone Not A Poet Can Realize The Agony Of Creating A Poem. Every Nerve, Even Every Muscle, Seems Strained To The Breaking Point. The Poem Will Not Be Denied; To Refuse To Write It Would Be A Greater Torture. It Tears Its Way Out Of The Brain, Splintering And Breaking Its Passage, And Leaves That Organ In The State Of A Jelly-fish When The Task Is Done.