If What We Worship Fail Us, Still

Lilacs, False Blue, White, Purple, Colour Of Lilac, Your Great Puffs Of Flowers Are Everywhere In This My New England ... Lilacs In Dooryards Holding Quiet Conversation With An Early Moon; Lilacs Watching A Deserted House; ... Lilacs, Wind-beaten, Staggering Under A Lopsided Shock Of Bloom, You Are Everywhere.

I Shall Go Up And Down In My Gown. Gorgeously Arrayed, Boned And Stayed.

Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It Is A Drowning.

Life Is A Stream On Which We Strew Petal By Petal The Flower Of Our Heart.

Art Is Like Politics. Any Theory Carried Too Far Ends In Sterility, And Freshness Is Only Gained By Following Some Other Line.