I Make Bean Stalks, I'm A Builder,

I Find That I Never Lose Bach. I Don't Know Why I Have Always Loved Him So. Except That He Is So Pure, So Relentless And Incorruptible, Like A Principle Of Geometry.

Love Is Not All; It Is Not Meat Nor Drink.

The Young Are So Old, They Are Born With Their Fingers Crossed.

Not Poppy, Nor Mandrake, Nor All The Drowsy Syrups Of The World, Shall Ever Medicine Thee To That Sweet Sleep, Which Thou Owest Yesterday.

You See, I Am A Poet, And Not Quite Right In The Head, Darling. It’s Only That.