Soar, Eat Ether, See What Has Never

Please Don't Think Me Negligent Or Rude. I Am Both, In Effect, Of Course, But Please Don't Think Me Either.

Heap Not On This Mound Roses That She Loved So Well; Why Bewilder Her With Roses That She Cannot See Or Smell.

I Would Blossom If I Were A Rose.

Dust In An Urn Long Since, Dispersed And Dead Is Great Apollo; And The Happier He

Earth Does Not Understand Her Child, Who From The Loud Gregarious Town Returns, Depleted And Defiled, To The Still Woods, To Fling Him Down.