The Young Feel Tired At The End

Poetry Should Help, Not Only To Refine The Language Of The Time, But To Prevent It From Changing Too Rapidly.

We Do Not Pass Twice Through The Same Door Or Return To The Door Through Which We Did Not Pass.

And Through The Spaces Of The Dark Midnight Shakes The Memory As A Madman Shakes A Dead Geranium.

Between The Desire And The Spasm, Between The Potency And The Existence, Between The Essence And The Descent, Falls The Shadow.

All Art Emulates The Condition Of Ritual. That Is What It Comes From And To That It Must Always Return For Nourishment.