Poetry Must Be Simple, Sensuous, Or Impassioned.

There Is No Comfort Looking Forth Nor Back, The Present Gives The Lie To All Her Past.

Naught Is Too Small And Soft To Turn And Sting.

The Soul, At Peace, Reflects The Peace Without, Forgetting Grief As Sunset Skies Forget The Morning's Transient Shower.

Let Our First Care Today Be The Re-establishment Of Our Physical Strength, The Reconstruction Of Our National Organism, So That In Future, Where The Respect Due To Us Cannot Be Won By Entreaty, It May Be Commanded, And Where It Cannot Be Commanded, It May Be Enforced.

Poetry Must Be Simple, Sensuous, Or Impassioned.