We read Robert Browning's poetry. Here we needed no guidance from the professor: the poems themselves were enough.

What if someone gave a war & Nobody came? / Life would ring the bells of Ecstasy and Forever be Itself again.

Calling it off comes easy enough if you haven't told the girl you are smitten with her.

There are dreams stronger than death. Men and women die holding these dreams.

Poetry is a projection across silence of cadences arranged to break that silence with definite intentions of echoes, syllables, wave lengths.

And those who say, "I'll try anything once," often try nothing twice, three times, arriving late at the gate of dreams worth dying for.

Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen.