Anything More Than The Truth Would Have

There Are Tones Of Voices That Mean More Than Words.

O Hushed October Morning Mild, Begin The Hours Of This Day Slow, Make The Day Seem To Us Less Brief... Retard The Sun With Gentle Mist; Enchant The Land With Amethyst.

Scholars And Artists Thrown Together Are Often Annoyed At The Puzzle Of Where They Differ. Both Work From Knowledge; But I Suspectthey Differ Most Importantly In The Way Their Knowledge Is Come By. Scholars Get Theirs With Conscientious Thoroughness Along Projected Lines Of Logic; Poets Theirs Cavalierly And As It Happens In And Out Of Books. They Stick To Nothing Deliberately, But Let What Will Stick To Them Like Burrs Where They Walk In The Fields.

I Am Assured At Any Rate Man's Practically Inexterminate. Someday I Must Go Into That. There's Always Been An Ararat Where Someone Someone Else Begat To Start The World All Over At.

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