The Late Evening Is The Time Of

But The More Poetry One Reads The More One Longs To Read!

It's A Terrible Thing To Be Alone - Yes It Is - It Is - But Don't Lower Your Mask Until You Have Another Mask Prepared Beneath - As Terrible As You Like - But A Mask.

The Fields Are Snowbound No Longer; There Are Little Blue Lakes And Flags Of Tenderest Green. The Snow Has Been Caught Up Into The Sky- So Many White Clouds-and The Blue Of The Sky Is Cold. Now The Sun Walks In The Forest, He Touches The Bows And Stems With His Golden Fingers; They Shiver, And Wake From Slumber. Over The Barren Branches He Shakes His Yellow Curls. Yet Is The Forest Full Of The Sound Of Tears.... A Wind Dances Over The Fields. Shrill And Clear The Sound Of Her Waking Laughter, Yet The Little Blue Lakes Tremble And The Flags Of Tenderest Green Bend And Quiver.

It Is Strange That There Are Times When I Feel The Stars Are Not At All Solemn: They Are Secretly Gay.

When I Say "i Fear" - Don't Let It Disturb You, Dearest Heart. We All Fear When We Are In Waiting-rooms. Yet We Must Pass Beyond Them, And If The Other Can Keep Calm, It Is All The Help We Can Give Each Other.