No God Save Self, That Is The

You Know, Without My Telling You, How Sometimes A Word Or Name Eludes You, And You Seek It Through Running Ghosts Of Shadow -- Leaping At It, Lying In Wait For It To Spring Upon It, Spreading Faint Snares For It Of Sense Or Sound: Until, Of A Sudden, As If In A Phantom Forest, You Hear It, See It Flash Among The Branches, And Scarcely Knowing How, Suddenly Have It.

Poetry Will Absorb And Transmute, As It Always Has Done, And Glorify, All That We Can Know.

Life Is The Thing--the Song Of Life-- The Eager Plow, The Thirsty Knife!

One Cricket Said To Another - Come, Let Us Be Ridiculous, And Say Love! Love Love Love Love Love Let Us Be Absurd, Woman, And Say Hate! Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate And Then Let Us Be Angelic And Say Nothing.

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