Virginia Woolf, I Enjoyed Talking To Her,

One's Own Surroundings Means So Much To One, When One Is Feeling Miserable.

... All Ugliness Passes, And Beauty Endures, Excepting Of The Skin.

White As A Winding Sheet, Masks Blowing Down The Street: Moscow, Paris London, Vienna - All Are Undone. The Drums Of Death Are Mumbling, Rumbling, And Tumbling, Mumbling, Rumbling, And Tumbling, The World's Floors Are Quaking, Crumbling And Breaking.

Still Falls The Rain - Dark As The World Of Man, Black As Our Loss - Blind As The Nineteen Hundred And Forty Nails Upon The Cross.

I May Say That I Think Greed About Poetry Is The Only Permissible Greed - It Is, Indeed, Unavoidable.