There is no God. But it does not matter. Man is enough.

Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere.

I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.

To a Young Poet Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird. Bird and wing together Go down, one feather. No thing that ever flew, Not the lark, not you, Can die as others do.

All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.

I hate people but I love gatherings.

I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.