She Whom I Love Is Hard To

Behold The Life At Ease; It Drifts, The Sharpened Life Commands Its Course.

Earth, The Mother Of All, Moves On Her Stedfast Way, Gathering, Flinging, Sowing. Mortals, We Live In Her Day, She In Her Children Is Growing.

The Most Dire Disaster In Love Is The Death Of Imagination.

As We To The Brutes, Poets Are To Us.

My Religion Of Life Is Always To Be Cheerful.