I Drank At Every Vine, The Last

And Reaching Up My Hand To Try, I Screamed To Feel It Touch The Sky.

Dust In An Urn Long Since, Dispersed And Dead Is Great Apollo; And The Happier He

I Am All The Time Talking About You, And Bragging, To One Person Or Another. I Am Like The Ancient Mariner, Who Had A Tale In His Heart He Must Unfold To All. I Am Always Buttonholing Somebody And Saying, "someday You Must Meet My Mother."

There Isn't A Train I Wouldn't Take, No Matter Where It's Going.

I Am Waylaid By Beauty.