God Is The Perfect Poet.

Each Life Unfulfilled, You See; It Hangs Still, Patchy And Scrappy: We Have Not Sighed Deep, Laughed Free, Starved, Feasted, Despaired,—been Happy.

Still More Labyrinthine Buds The Rose.

A Minute Of Success Pays For Years Of Failure.

Escape Me? Never, Beloved! While I Am I, And You Are You.

Oh The Wild Joys Of Living! The Leaping From Rock To Rock ... The Cool Silver Shock Of The Plunge In A Pool's Living Waters.