We Are Lived By Powers We Pretend

Happy The Hare At Morning, For She Cannot Read The Hunter's Waking Thoughts.

August For The People And Their Favourite Islands. Daily The Steamers Sidle Up To Meet The Effusive Welcome Of The Pier.

We All Have These Places Where Shy Humiliations Gambol On Sunny Afternoons.

No Poet Or Novelist Wishes He Were The Only One Who Ever Lived, But Most Of Them Wish They Were The Only One Alive, And Quite A Number Fondly Believe Their Wish Has Been Granted.

All That We Are Not Stares Back At What We Are.