Private property began the instant somebody had a mind of his own.

Always it’s Spring)and everyone’s in love and flowers pick themselves.

And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms

i shall imagine life is not worth dying,if (and when)roses complain their beauties are in vain but though mankind persuades itself that every weed's a rose,roses(you feel certain)will only smile

So far as I am concerned, poetry and every other art was, is, and forever will be strictly and distinctly a question of individuality.

because it's Spring thingS dare to do people (& not the other way round)because it 's A pril Lives lead their own persons(in stead of everybodyelse's)but what's wholly marvellous my Darling is that you & i are more than you & i(be ca us e It's we)

Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles: they are by somebody who can love and who shall be continually reborn, a human being.