Such was a poet and shall be and is -who'll solve the depths of horror to defend a sunbeam's architecture with his life: and carve immortal jungles of despair to hold a mountain's heartbeat in his hand.
who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you
Seeker of truth follow no path all paths lead where truth is here.
You shall above all things be glad and young.
suppose Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.
To like an individual because he's black is just as insulting as to dislike him because he isn't white.
it may not always be so; and i say that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch his heart, as mine in time not far away; if on another's face your sweet hair lay in such a silence as i know,or such great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; if this should be, i say if this should be- you of my heart, send me a little word; that i may go unto him, and take his hands, saying, Accept all happiness from me. Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
Lessons hide in his wrinkles. Bells ding in the oldness of eyes. Did he by, any chance, tell children that there are such monstrous things as peace and goodwill...a corrupter of youth no doubt.
So far as I am concerned, poetry and every other art was, is, and forever will be strictly and distinctly a question of individuality.
That which we die for lives as wholly as that which we live for dies.
Art is a mystery. A mystery is something immeasurable.
Progress is a comfortable disease.
O sweet spontaneous earth
Knowledge is a polite word for dead but not buried imagination.
I spill my bright incalculable soul
Be of love a little more careful than of anything.
The symbol of all art is the Prism. The goal is unrealism. The method is destructive. To break up the white light of objective realism, into the secret glories which it contains.
Unbeing dead isn't being alive.
America makes prodigious mistakes, America has colossal faults, but one thing cannot be denied: America is always on the move. She may be going to Hell, of course, but at least she isn't standing still.
It takes three to make a child.
Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most people?
It is with roses and locomotives (not to mention acrobats Spring electricity Coney Island the 4th of July the eyes of mice and Niagara Falls) that my poems are competing.
Equality is what does not exist among mortals.
If you like my poems let them walk in the evening, a little behind you
Time's a strange fellow; more he gives than takes (and he takes all).
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