Happiness, to some, is elation; to others it is mere stagnation.

Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation.

I never deny poems when they come; whatever I am doing, whatever I am writing, I lay it aside and attend to the arriving poem.

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.

This is war: Boys flung into a breach Like shoveled earth; And old men, Broken, Driving rapidly before crowds of people In a glitter of silly decorations. Behind the boys And the old men, Life weeps, And shreds her garments To the blowing winds.

Happiness, to some, is elation; to others it is mere stagnation.