The Afternoon Knows What The Morning Never

Why Make So Much Of Fragmentary Blue In Here And There A Bird, Or Butterfly, Or Flower, Or Wearing-stone, Or Open Eye, When Heaven Presents In Sheets The Solid Hue?

The City Is All Right. To Live In One Is To Be Civilized, Stay Up And Read Or Sing And Dance All Night And See Sunrise By Waiting Up Instead Of Getting Up.

Ends And Beginnings—there Are No Such Things. There Are Only Middles.

Many Lovers Have Been Divorced By Having What Is Free Enforced.

Such Heaps Of Broken Glass To Sweep Away / You'd Think The Inner Dome Of Heaven Had Fallen.