They change, and we, who pass like foam, Like dust blown through the streets of Rome, Change ever, too; we have no home,
Go to Quote / Comment
|
But gathering as we stray, a sense Of Life, so lovely and intense,...
Go to Quote / Comment
|
Out of the earth to rest or range Perpetual in perpetual change, The unknown passing through the strange.
Go to Quote / Comment
|
Since the printing press came into being, poetry has ceased to be the delight of the whole community of man; it has become the amusement and delight of the few.
Go to Quote / Comment
|
In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.
Go to Quote / Comment
|