Come With Me, Ladies And Gentlemen Who

Modern Poets Are Bells Of Lead. They Should Tinkle Melodiously But Usually They Just Klunk.

It Has Always Struck Me That One Of The Readiest Ways Of Estimating A Country's Regard For Law Is To Notice What Arms The Officers Of The Law Are Carrying: In England It Is Little Batons, In France Swords, In Many Countries Revolvers, And In Russia The Police Used To Have Artillery.

Then I Perceived, What I Had Never Thought, That All These Staring Houses Were Not Alike, But Different One From Another, Because They Held Different Dreams.

And At That Moment A Wind Came Out Of The Northwest, And Entered The Woods And Bared The Golden Branches, And Danced Over The Downs, And Led A Company Of Scarlet And Golden Leaves, That Had Dreaded This Day But Danced Now It Had Come; And Away With A Riot Of Dancing And Glory Of Colour, High In The Light Of The Sun That Had Set From The Sight Of The Fields, Went Wind And Leaves Together.

If One Who Looked From A Tower For A New Star, Watching For Years The Same Part Of The Sky, Suddenly Saw It (quite By Chance While Thinking Of Other Things), And Knew It For The Star For Which He Had Hoped, How Many Millions Of Men Would Never Care?