Seagulls . . . Slim Yachts Of

Poetry Is Not A Civilizer, Rather The Reverse, For Great Poetry Appeals To The Most Primitive Instincts.

...science And Mathematics Run Parallel To Reality, They Symbolize It, They Squint At It, They Never Touch It: Consider What An Explosion Would Rock The Bones Of Men Into Little White Fragments And Unsky The World If Any Mind For A Moment Touch Truth.

Death's A Fierce Meadowlark: But To Die Having Made / Something More Equal To The Centuries / Than Muscle And Bone, Is Mostly To Shed Weakness.

If You Should Look For This Place After A Handful Of Lifetimes: Perhaps Of My Planted Forest A Few May Stand Yet, Dark-leaved Australians Or The Coast Cypress, Haggard With Storm-drift; But Fire And The Axe Are Devils. Look For Foundations Of Sea-worn Granite, My Fingers Had The Art To Make Stone Love Stone, You Will Find Some Remnant.

He Is Strong And Pain Is Worse To The Strong, Incapacity Is Worse.