The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins

But I Have Promises To Keep, And Miles To Go Before I Sleep, And Miles To Go Before I Sleep.

Poetry Is About The Grief. Politics Is About The Grievance.

The Sun Was Warm But The Wind Was Chill. You Know How It Is With An April Day. When The Sun Is Out And The Wind Is Still, You're One Month On In The Middle Of May. But If You So Much As Dare To Speak, A Cloud Come Over The Sunlit Arch, And Wind Comes Off A Frozen Peak, And You're Two Months Back In The Middle Of March.

One Age Is Like Another For The Soul.

Nations Like The Cuban And The Swiss Can Never Hope To Wage A Global Mission. No Holy Wars For Them. The Most The Small Can Ever Give Us Is A Nuisance Brawl.