Oh, God of Dust and Rainbows, Help us to see That without the dust the rainbow Would not be.

Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsets exquisitely dying.

Gather out of star-dust, Earth-dust, Cloud-dust, Storm-dust, And splinters of hail, One handful of dream-dust, Not for sale.

Politics can be the graveyard of the poet. And only poetry can be his resurrection.

LIBERTY! FREEDOM! DEMOCRACY! True anyhow no matter how many Liars use those words.

It were depression, too. They cut my wages down once at the foundry. They cut my wages down again. Then they cut my wages out, also the job.

Gather up In the arms of your love—Those who expect No love from above.