We can't separate our humanity from our poetry.

Like to write? Of course, of course I do. I seem to live while I write - it is life, for me.

We can't separate our humanity from our poetry.

There are nettles everywhere, but smooth, green grasses are more common still; the blue of heaven is larger than the cloud.

Whoso loves, believes in the impossible

XI I sang his name instead of song; Over and over I sang his name: Backward and forward I sang it along, With my sweetest notes, it was still the same! I sang it low, that the slave-girls near Might never guess, from what they could hear, That all the song was a name.

God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in it.