Poetry Is Talking On Tiptoe.

I Expect Woman Will Be The Last Thing Civilized By Man.

What A Dusty Answer Gets The Soul When Hot For Certainties In This Our Life!

Possession Without Obligation To The Object Possessed Approaches Felicity.

Lovely Are The Curves Of The White Owl Sweeping Wavy In The Dusk Lit By One Large Star. Lone On The Fir-branch, His Rattle-note Unvaried, Brooding O'er The Gloom, Spins The Brown Eve-jar.

What A Woman Thinks Of Women Is The Test Of Her Nature.