Yet Falling In Love Is Not The

Under Various Names, I Have Praised Only You, Rivers! You Are Milk And Honey And Love And Death And Dance. From A Spring In Hidden Grottoes, Seeping From Mossy Rocks, Where A Goddess Pours Live Water From A Pitcher, At Clear Streams In The Meadow, Where Rills Murmur Underground, Your Race And My Race Begin, And Amazement, And Quick Passage.

What Is This Enigmatic Impulse That Does Not Allow One To Settle Down In The Achieved, The Finished? I Think It Is A Quest For Reality.

Poetry Is News Brought To The Mountains By A Unicorn And An Echo.

A Day So Happy. Fog Lifted Early. I Worked In The Garden. Hummingbirds Were Stopping Over Honeysuckle Flowers. There Was No Thing On Earth I Wanted To Possess. I Know No One Worth My Envying Him.

Be Young Forever, Seasons Of The Earth.