Do You Love This World? Do You

What Can We Do But Keep On Breathing In And Out, Modest And Willing, And In Our Places?

I Want To Believe I Am Looking Into The White Fire Of A Great Mystery.

What Misery To Be Afraid Of Death. What Wretchedness, To Believe Only In What Can Be Proven.

In College, You Learn How To Learn. Four Years Is Not Too Much Time To Spend At That.

The Poem In Which The Reader Does Not Feel Himself Or Herself A Participant Is A Lecture, Listened To From An Uncomfortable Chair, In A Stuffy Room, Inside A Building.