Thou Two-faced Year, Mother Of Change And

No Man Had Ever Heard A Nightingale, When Once A Keen-eyed Naturalist Was Stirred To Study And Define -- What Is A Bird.

Poetry Must Be Simple, Sensuous, Or Impassioned.

Not Like The Brazen Giant Of Greek Fame, With Conquering Limbs Astride From Land To Land; Here At Our Sea-washed, Sunset Gates Shall Stand A Mighty Woman With A Torch, Whose Flame Is The Imprisoned Lightning, And Her Name Mother Of Exiles.

My Own Curiosity And Interest Are Insatiable.

Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses Yearning To Breathe Free.