Till it has loved, no man or woman can become itself.
There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.
Memory is a strange BellโJubilee, and Knell.
Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -
Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.
Pain has an element of blank