The poet should try to give his poem the quiet swiftness of flame, so that the reader will feel and not think while he is reading. But the thinking will come afterwards.

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too, The world's heart breaks beneath its wars,All things are changed, save in the east,The faithful beauty of the stars.

Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

Though I know he loves me, tonight my heart is sad; his kiss was not so wonderful as all the dreams I had.

My heart is a garden tired with autumn.

Places I love come back to me like music, / Hush me and heal me when I am very tired.

Life is a frail moth flying Caught in the web of the years that pass.