You, Of Course, Are A Rose-- But

I Dwell With A Strangely Aching Heart In That Vanished Abode There Far Apart

I Could Define Poetry This Way: It Is That Which Is Lost Out Of Both Prose And Verse In Translation.

The Old Dog Barks Backward Without Getting Up I Can Remember When He Was A Pup.

I'd Like To Get Away From Earth Awhile / And Then Come Back To It And Begin Over.

The Sidelong Glance Is What You Depend On.