The One You Love Leans Forward, Smiles,

Schoolchildren All Over America Are Told To Write To Authors-often To Authors Whom They Have Never Before Heard Of, Whose Work They Are To Young To Understand In The Least, And Often In Letters Which Are Almost Illiterate. If Children Are To Be Taught To Respect The Work Of American Poets I Think Some Better Way Might Be Found To Do So- Some Way Which Would Not Make Such An Inconsiderate Demand On The Author's Time.

Life Is The Thing--the Song Of Life-- The Eager Plow, The Thirsty Knife!

Come Back, True Love! Sweet Youth, Return!— But Time Goes On, And Will, Unheeding, Though Hands Will Reach, And Eyes Will Yearn, And The Wild Days Set True Hearts Bleeding.

Time Is A Dream ... A Destroying Dream; It Lays Great Cities In Dust, It Fills The Seas; It Covers The Face Of Beauty, And Tumbles Walls.

Poetry Will Absorb And Transmute, As It Always Has Done, And Glorify, All That We Can Know.