Not The Intense Moment Isolated, With No

Tradition: How The Vitality Of The Past Enriches The Life Of The Present.

Stand On The Highest Pavement Of The Stair- Lean On A Garden Urn- Weave, Weave The Sunlight In Your Hair.

The Good Poet Welds His Theft Into A Whole Of Feeling Which Is Unique, Utterly Different From That From Which It Was Torn; The Bad Poet Throws It Into Something Which Has No Cohesion.

But What Have I, But What Have I, My Friend, To Give You, What Can You Receive From Me? Only The Friendship And The Sympathy Of One About To Reach Her Journey's End.

But At My Back From Time To Time I Hear The Sound Of Horns And Motors, Which Shall Bring Sweeney To Mrs. Porter In The Spring. O The Moon Shone Bright On Mrs. Porter And On Her Daughter They Wash Their Feet In Soda Water.