Since The Printing Press Came Into Being,

It Ought To Have Gangsters, And Aeroplanes And A Lot Of Automatic Pistols.

Only The Road And The Dawn, The Sun, The Wind, And The Rain, And The Watch Fire Under Stars, And Sleep, And The Road Again.

Love Is A Flame To Set The Will On Fire

It Is Too Maddening. I've Got To Fly Off, Right Now, To Some Devilish Navy Yard, 3 Hours In A Seasick Steamer, & After Being Heartily Sick, I'll Have To Speak 3 Times, & Then Be Sick Coming Home. Still, Who Would Not Be Sick For England?

It's A Warm Wind, The West Wind, Full Of Birds' Cries; I Never Hear The West Wind But Tears Are In My Eyes. For It Comes From The West Lands, The Old Brown Hills, And April's In The West Wind, And Daffodils.