Survival Is Your Strength Not Your Shame.

The Yellow Fog That Rubs Its Back Upon The Window-panes The Yellow Smoke That Rubs Its Muzzle On The Window-panes Licked Its Tongue Into The Corners Of The Evening Lingered Upon The Pools That Stand In Drains Let Fall Upon Its Back The Soot That Falls From Chimneys Slipped By The Terrace, Made A Sudden Leap And Seeing That It Was A Soft October Night Curled Once About The House, And Fell Asleep

Cling, Swing, Spring, Sing, Swing Up Into The Apple Tree.

There Is No Absolute Point Of View From Which Real And Ideal Can Be Finally Separated And Labelled.

We Shall Not Cease From Exploration

This Is One Moment, / But Know That Another / Shall Pierce You With A Sudden Painful Joy.