Life is a garment we continuously alter, but which never seems to fit.
But man must light for man The fires no other can, And find in his own eye Where the strange crossroads lie.
March is outside the door Flaming some old desire As man turns uneasily from his fire.
A handful of sand is an anthology of the universe.
The decent docent doesn't doze; He teaches standing on his toes. His students dassn't doze and does, And that's what teaching is and was.
Books fall open, you fall in.