It Is Almost Impossible For The Poetess,

I Don't Like Quintessential Certitude.

Hate Does Not Present Many Choices; If Hate Is Your Solution, You Are Fairly Certain To Hate All Phemonena With Equal Joy And Intensity, Without Troubling To Drag Into Prominence Any One Feature From The Loathsome Whole.

I Hope That One Or Two Immortal Lyrics Will Come Out Of All This Tumbling Around.

O Remember In Your Narrowing Dark Hours That More Things Move Than Blood In The Heart.

The Women Rest Their Tired Half-healed Hearts; They Are Almost Well.