We Ask Only To Be Reassured About

War Is Not A Life: It Is A Situation, One Which May Neither Be Ignored Nor Accepted.

Ash On An Old Man's Sleeve / Is All The Ash The Burnt Roses Leave, / Dust In The Air Suspended / Marks The Place Where A Story Ended.

At The Violet Hour, When The Eyes And Back Turn Upward From The Desk, When The Human Engine Waits Like A Taxi Throbbing Waiting I Tiresias, Though Blind, Throbbing Between Two Lives.

This Is The Feeling For Syllable And Rhythm, Penetrating Far Below The Conscious Levels Of Thought And Feeling, Invigorating Every Word.

The Very Existence Of Libraries Affords The Best Evidence That We May Yet Have Hope For The Future Of Man