Night Falls Fast. Today Is

Martyred Many Times Must Be Who Would Keep His Country Free.

L Am Not Resigned To The Shutting Away Of Loving Hearts In The Hard Ground. So It Is, And So It Will Be, For So It Has Been, Time Out Of Mind: Into The Darkness They Go, The Wise And The Lovely. Crowned With Lilies And With Laurel They Go; But I Am Not Resigned.

I Find That I Never Lose Bach. I Don't Know Why I Have Always Loved Him So. Except That He Is So Pure, So Relentless And Incorruptible, Like A Principle Of Geometry.

Spring To What Purpose, April, Do You Return Again? Beauty Is Not Enough. You Can No Longer Quiet Me With The Redness Of Little Leaves Opening Stickily. I Know What I Know. The Sun Is Hot On My Neck As I Observe The Spikes Of The Crocus. The Smell Of The Earth Is Good. It Is Apparent That There Is No Death. But What Does That Signify? Not Only Under Ground Are The Brains Of Men Eaten By Maggots. Life In Itself Is Nothing, An Empty Cup, A Flight Of Uncarpeted Stairs. It Is Not Enough That Yearly, Down This Hill, April Comes Like An Idiot, Babbling And Strewing Flowers.

Pity Me That The Heart Is Slow To Learn What The Swift Mind Beholds At Every Turn.