Thanks Be To God We Lived So

Places Remember Events.

I Am, A Stride At A Time. A Very Short Space Of Time Through Very Short Time Of Space.

Life Is Too Short To Read A Bad Book.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality.

Winds Of May, That Dance On The Sea, Dancing A Ring-around In Glee From Furrow To Furrow, While Overhead The Foam Flies Up To Be Garlanded, In Silvery Arches Spanning The Air, Saw You My True Love Anywhere? Welladay! Welladay! For The Winds Of May! Love Is Unhappy When Love Is Away!