The Footpath Down To The Well Is

They Would Not Find Me Changed From Him They Knew - Only More Sure Of All I Thought Was True.

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?

People Who Read Me Seem To Be Divided Into Four Groups: Twenty-five Percent Like Me For The Right Reasons; Twenty-five Percent Like Me For The Wrong Reasons; Twenty-five Percent Hate Me For The Wrong Reasons; Twenty-five Percent Hate Me For The Right Reasons. It's That Last Twenty-five Percent That Worries Me.

The Ear Is The Only True Writer And The Only True Reader. I Know People Who Read Without Hearing The Sentence Sounds And They Were The Fastest Readers. Eye Readers We Call Them. They Get The Meaning By Glances. But They Are Bad Readers Because They Miss The Best Part Of What A Good Writer Puts Into His Work.

What Is Done Is Done For The Love Of It- Or Not Really Done At All.