That Way Of Inspiration Is Always Open,

Every Concrete Object Has Abstract Value, Is Timeless In The Dream Parallel.

I Had Drawn Away Into The Salt, Myself, A Shell Emptied Of Life.

Pompeii Has Nothing To Teach Us, We Know Crack Of Volcanic Fissure, Slow Flow Of Terrible Lava, Pressure On Heart, Lungs, The Brain About To Burst Its Brittle Case (what The Skull Can Endure!)

O Happy, Happy Each Man Whom Predestined Fate Leads To The Holy Rite Of Hill And Mountain Worship.

I Could Not Accept From Wisdom What Love Taught, Woman Is Perfect.