Writing Is Learning To Say Nothing, More

Four Ducks On A Pond, / A Grass-bank Beyond, / A Blue Sky Of Spring, / White Clouds On The Wing: / What A Little Thing / To Remember For Years - / To Remember With Tears!.

Winds And Waters Keepa Hush More Dead Than Any Sleep.

Tantarrara! The Joyous Book Of Spring Lies Open, Writ In Blossoms.

Sin We Have Explain'd Away; Unluckily, The Sinners Stay.

Not Like Homer Would I Write, Not Like Dante If I Might, Not Like Shakespeare At His Best, Not Like Goethe Or The Rest, Like Myself, However Small, Like Myself, Or Not At All.