Come, Butterfly It's Late- We've Miles To

Real Poetry, Is To Lead A Beautiful Life. To Live Poetry Is Better Than To Write It.

No Matter Where Your Interest Lies, You Will Not Be Able To Accomplish Anything Unless You Bring Your Deepest Devotion To It.

I Felt Quite At Home, / As If It Were Mine Sleeping Lazily / In This House Of Fresh Air.

The Sea Darkens And A Wild Duck S Call Is Faintly White.

If I Had The Knack I'd Sing Like Cherry Flakes Falling