Do You Hear The Children Singing?

I Wonder More And More Just Where I May Have Come Out If I Had Never Seen Harvard Square.

Poets And Kings Are But The Clerks Of Time, Tiering The Same Dull Webs Of Discontent, Clipping The Same Sad Alnage Of The Years.

Language That Tells Us, Through A More Or Less Emotional Reaction, Something That Can Not Be Said.

The World Is A Kind Of Spiritual Kindergarten Where Millions Of Bewildered Infants Are Trying To Spell "god" With The Wrong Blocks.

No Matter What We Are, And What We Sing, Time Finds A Withered Leaf In Every Laurel