Some Editors Are Failed Writers, But So

We Shall Not Cease From Exploration

The Past And Future / Are Conquered, And Reconciled.

Weave, Weave The Sunlight In Your Hair-

As We Grow Older, The World Becomes Stranger, The Pattern More Complicated Of Dead And Living.

The Poet's Mind Is In Fact A Receptacle For Seizing And Storing Up Numberless Feelings, Phrases, Images, Which Remain There Until All The Particles Which Can Unite To Form A New Compound Are Present Together.