Minds Will Wander Even During

In The Great Cities, Winter Glitters With Art And Feasting. But Poetry, The Country Cousin, Sees Only The Dearth Of The Fields.

As I Criss-cross The City Hurrying, I Feel Always The Unchanging Cold Beneath The Pavement.

The Enlightenment Needs More Shadow; The Romantic Movement Less.

When Medusa Looks In The Mirror, She Sees The Lady Of Sorrows.

Tolerance Is A Placid Contempt.