But The More Poetry One Reads The

I Love This Place; I Love Mountains And Big Skies And Forests. And The Weather Is Still Supremely Beautiful Even Though The Lower Peaks Are Powdered With Fresh Snow. But Heavens! What Sun. It Never Has An Ending. I Am Basking At This Minute - Half Past Four - Too Hot Without A Hat, & The Sky Is That Transparent Blue Only To Be Seen In Autumn - The Forest Trees Steeped In Light.

I Love The Night. I Love To Feel The Tide Of Darkness Rising, Slowly And Slowly Washing, Turning Over And Over, Lifting, Floating, All That Lies Strewn Upon The Dark Beach, All That Lies Hid In Rocky Hollows.

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

Now's The Time When Children's Noses All Become As Red As Roses And The Colour Of Their Faces Makes Me Think Of Orchard Places Where The Juicy Apples Grow, And Tomatoes In A Row.

I Want, By Understanding Myself, To Understand Others.