Humor is the most engaging cowardice.
It was far in the sameness of the wood; I was running with joy on the Demon's trail, Though I knew what I hunted was no true god.
But not gold in commercial quantities, Just enough gold to make the engagement rings And marriage rings of those who owned the farm. What gold more innocent could one have asked for?
Courage is in the air in bracing whiffs Better than all the stalemate an's and ifs.
My definition of poetry (if I were forced to give one) would be this: words that have become deeds.
A poem may be worked over once it is in being, but may not be worried into being.
We're either nothing or a God's regret.
Poetry is a reaching out forward expression, an effort to find fulfillment
The footpath down to the well is healed.
Sentences are not different enough to hold the attention unless they are dramatic. No ingenuity of varying structure will do. All that can save them is the speaking tone of voice somehow entangled in the words and fastened to the page for the ear of the imagination. That is all that can save poetry from sing-song, all that can save prose from itself.
A bird half wakened in the lunar noon Sang halfway through its little inborn tune.
A turning point in modern history.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile / And then come back to it and begin over.
In heaven we are all ghostwriters, if we write at all.
Don't join too many gangs. Join few if any. Join the United States and join the family- But not much in between unless a college.
I could define poetry this way: it is that which is lost out of both prose and verse in translation.
An idea is a feat of association.
Courage is of the heart by derivation, And great it is. But fear is of the soul.
I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice.
The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.
I believe in teaching, but I don’t believe in going to school.
The nearest friends can go With anyone to death, comes so far short They might as well not try to go at all.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.
The chance is the remotest, Of its going much longer unnoticed, That I'm not keeping pace With the headlong human race
You can be a rank insider as well as a rank outsider.
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