Sexual love is the most stupendous fact of the universe, and the most magical mystery our poor blind senses know.
How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
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?
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
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.