The Only Way Out Is To Go

Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know. His House Is In The Village Though; He Will Not See Me Stopping Here To Watch His Woods Fill Up With Snow.

Summoning Artists To Participate In The August Occasions Of The State Seems Something Artists Ought To Celebrate. Today Is For My Cause A Day Of Days.

But I May Be One Who Does Not Care Ever To Have Tree Bloom Or Bear.

And Were An Epitaph To Be My Story I'd Have A Short One Ready For My Own. I Would Have Written Of Me On My Stone: I Had A Lover's Quarrel With The World.

I Am Assured At Any Rate Man's Practically Inexterminate. Someday I Must Go Into That. There's Always Been An Ararat Where Someone Someone Else Begat To Start The World All Over At.