Too Much Beauty, I Reckon,

There Are Nettles Everywhere, But Smooth, Green Grasses Are More Common Still; The Blue Of Heaven Is Larger Than The Cloud.

Sing, Seraph With The Glory! Heaven Is High. Sing, Poet With The Sorrow! Earth Is Low. The Universe's Inward Voices Cry "amen" To Either Song Of Joy And Woe. Sing, Seraph, Poet! Sing On Equally!

We Can't Separate Our Humanity From Our Poetry.

Men Get Opinions As Boys Learn To Spell By Reiteration Chiefly.

Will That Light Come Again, As Now These Tears Come...falling Hot And Real!