Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding, But she guesses he is near, And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand upon her.

Poetry is the most concentrated form of literature; it is the most emotionalized and powerful way in which thought can be presented.

Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.

If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.

Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.

Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.

How much more beautiful is the moon, Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree; The moon Wavering across a bed of tulips; The moon, Still, Upon your face. You shine, Beloved, You and the moon. But which is the reflection?