What can any of us do with his talent but try to develop his vision, so that through frequent failures we may learn better what we have missed in the past.
This is Just to Say I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold
It is difficult to get the news from poems yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.
We sit and talk, quietly, with long lapses of silence and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes which has no speech
You lethargic, waiting upon me, waiting for the fire and I attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty Shaken by your beauty Shaken.
Your thighs are appletrees. Your knees are a southern breeze.
It is at the edge of the petal that love waits
If it ain't a pleasure, it ain't a poem.
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
beautyβ is related not to βlovelinessβ but to a state in which reality plays a part.
The business of love is cruelty which, by our wills, we transform to live together.
For the beginning is assuredly the end- since we know nothing, pure and simple, beyond our own complexities.
I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.
Time is a storm in which we are all lost.
Sun benches at the curb bespeak another season, truncated poplars that having served for shade served also later for the fire.
