April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
And what are you that, missing you, I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for your sake? And what are you that, missing you, As many days as crawl I should be listening to the wind And looking at the wall? I know a man that’s a braver man And twenty men as kind, And what are you, that you should be The one man in my mind? Yet women’s ways are witless ways, As any sage will tell,— And what am I, that I should love So wisely and so well?
Life isn't one thing after another, it's the same thing over and over.
Upon this gifted age, in its dark hour falls from the sky a meteoric shower of facts; They lie unquestioned, uncombined. Wisdom enough to leech us of our ill is daily spun, But there exists no loom to weave it into fabric.
I am all the time talking about you, and bragging, to one person or another. I am like the Ancient Mariner, who had a tale in his heart he must unfold to all. I am always buttonholing somebody and saying, "Someday you must meet my mother."
No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.
I would blossom if I were a rose.
Here's a song was never sung: Growing old is dying young.
For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul. All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine the gall Of all regret. Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate That stood behind each envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine every lust. And all the while for every grief, Each suffering, I craved relief With individual desire, – Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire About a thousand people crawl; Perished with each, — then mourned for all!
Music my rampart, and my only one.
Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom golden in the green grass, this life can be.
The fabric of my faithful love No power shall dim or ravel Whilst I stay here - but oh, my dear, If I should ever travel!
Death devours all lovely things.
I drank at every vine, the last was like the first. I came upon no wine so wonderful as thirst.
And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea.
And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.
Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen; depart, be lost, but climb.
There is no God. But it does not matter. Man is enough.
I am not afraid of lawyers as I used to be. They are lambs in wolves' clothing.
Life in itself / Is nothing, / An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. / It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, / April / Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
The world stands out on either side No wider than the heart is wide; Above the world is stretched the sky, No higher than the soul is high. The heart can push the sea and land Farther away on either hand; The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through. But East and West will pinch the heart That can not keep them pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat—the sky Will cave in on him by and by.
A ghost in marble of a girl you knew Who would have loved you in a day or two.
And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass, This life can be. Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass, not beautiful Because common, beautiful because beautiful, Noble because common, because free.
Man has never been the same since God died.
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