Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came, And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame. With burnt mouth red like a lion's it drank The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank, And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine When the eastern conduits ran with wine.

Thou cannot stir a flower Without troubling a star.

The devil doesn't know how to sing, only how to howl.

An atheist is a man who believes himself an accident.

Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven.

The innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,Moves all the labouring surges of the world.

Spring is come home with her world-wandering feet, And all things are made young with your desires.