Time Is A Dream ... A Destroying

My Heart Has Become As Hard As A City Street, The Horses Trample Upon It, It Sings Like Iron, All Day Long And All Night Long They Beat, They Ring Like The Hooves Of Time.

Variations: Ii Green Light, From The Moon, Pours Over The Dark Blue Trees, Green Light From The Autumn Moon Pours On The Grass ... Green Light Falls On The Goblin Fountain Where Hesitant Lovers Meet And Pass. They Laugh In The Moonlight, Touching Hands, They Move Like Leaves On The Wind ... I Remember An Autumn Night Like This, And Not So Long Ago, When Other Lovers Were Blown Like Leaves, Before The Coming Of Snow.

Whitman Had A Profound Influence On Me. That Was During My Sophomore Year When I Came Down With A Bad Attack Of Whitmanitis. But He Did Me A Lot Of Good, And I Think The Influence Is Discoverable.

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.

The Truth--a Hideous Spectacle!