Poetry Is The Only Art People Haven't

Get Up Very Early And Get Going At Once. In Fact, Work First And Wash Afterwards.

A Poet's Hope: To Be, Like Some Valley Cheese, Local, But Prized Elsewhere.

Acts Of Injustice Done Between The Setting And The Rising Sun In History Lie Like Bones, Each One.

O Plunge Your Hands In Water, Plunge Them In Up To The Wrist; Stare, Stare In The Basin And Wonder What You've Missed.

There Is A Certain Kind Of Person Who Is So Dominated By The Desire To Be Loved For Himself Alone That He Has Constantly To Test Those Around Him By Tiresome Behavior; What He Says And Does Must Be Admired, Not Because It Is Intrinsically Admirable, But Because It Is His Remark, His Act. Does Not This Explain A Good Deal Of Avant-garde Art?