The Difficult Part Of Love Is Being

One Of The Great Criticisms Of Poets Of The Past Is That They Said One Thing And Did Another.

I Listen To Money Singing, It's Like Looking Down From Long French Windows At A Provincial Town. The Slums, The Canal, The Churches Ornate And Mad In The Evening Sun. It Is Intensely Sad.

Spring, Of All Seasons Most Gratuitous, Is Fold Of Untaught Flower, Is Race Of Water, Is Earth's Most Multiple, Excited Daughter; And Those She Has Least Use For See Her Best, Their Paths Grown Craven And Circuitous, Their Visions Mountain-clear, Their Needs Immodest.

Parting Is A Training Streamer,lingering Like Leaves In Autumn.

Life Has A Practice Of Living You, If You Don't Live It.