A Man Does Not Plant A Tree

My Heart Like Moon-charmed Waters, All Unrest.

In My Garden I Spend My Days; In My Library I Spend My Nights.

Death Is The Ugly Fact Which Nature Has To Hide, And She Hides It Well.

Sweet April's Tears, Dead On The Hem Of May.

Men Praise Poverty, As The African Worships Mumbo Jumbo--from Terror Of The Malign Power, And A Desire To Propitiate At.