The heart grows weary after a little Of what it loved for a little while.

Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.

To a Young Poet Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird. Bird and wing together Go down, one feather. No thing that ever flew, Not the lark, not you, Can die as others do.

Not for the flag Of any land because myself was born there Will I give up my life. But I will love that land where man is free, And that will I defend.

I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.

We think-although of course, now, we very seldom Clearly think- That the other side of War is Peace.

Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.