Death Is A Meeting Place Of Sea

Come Back, True Love! Sweet Youth, Return!— But Time Goes On, And Will, Unheeding, Though Hands Will Reach, And Eyes Will Yearn, And The Wild Days Set True Hearts Bleeding.

Should I Not Hear, As I Lie Down In Dust, The Horns Of Glory Blowing Above My Burial?

I Think It's Very Useful To Be Insulated From Your Surrounds, Because It Gives You Your Inviolate Privacy, Without Pressures, So That You Can Just Be Yourself.

He Whose First Emotion, On The View Of An Excellent Work, Is To Undervalue Or Depreciate It, Will Never Have One Of His Own To Show.

The Wandering One, The Inquisitive Dreamer Of Dreams, The Eternal Asker Of Answers, Stands In The Street, And Lifts His Palms For The First Cold Ghost Of Rain.