If The Writer Does Not Cry, The

Haven't You Heard, Though, About The Ships Where War Has Found Them Out At Sea, About The Towns Where War Has Come Through Opening Clouds At Night With Droning Speed Further O'erhead Than All But Stars And Angels And Children In The Ships And In The Towns?

The Footpath Down To The Well Is Healed.

Let Cloud Shapes Swarm, / Let Chaos Storm, / I Wait For Form.

The Truly Educated Can Listen To Any View Without Losing Their Temper Or Self-confidence.

Nothing Gold Can Stay.