My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

This Is America, This Vast, Confused Beauty, This Staring, Restless Speed Of Loveliness, Mighty, Overwhelming, Crude, Of All Forms, Making Grandeur Out Of Profusion, Afraid Of No Incongruities, Sublime In Its Audacity, Bizarre Breaker Of Moulds.

I Must Be Mad, Or Very Tired, When The Curve Of A Blue Bay Beyond A Railroad Track Is Shrill And Sweet To Me Like The Sudden Springing Of A Tune, And The Sight Of A White Church Above Thin Trees In A City Square Amazes My Eyes As Though It Were The Parthenon.

Everything Mortal Has Moments Immortal

How Loud Clocks Can Tick When A Room Is Empty, And One Is Alone!

Guarded Within The Old Red Wall's Embrace, Marshalled Like Soldiers In Gay Company, The Tulips Stand Arrayed. Here Infantry Wheels Out Into The Sunlight.