Nothing is so beautiful as spring- When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling. What is all this juice and all this joy? A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning In Eden garden.-Have, get, before it cloy.

The Indian gods are imposing, the Greek gods are not. Indeed they are not brave, not self-controlled, they have no manners, they are not gentlemen and ladies.

Your personal boundaries protect the inner core of your identity and your right to choices.

Horrible to say, in a manner I am a Communist.

I do not write for the public. You are my public and I hope to convert you.

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night!

What I do is me, for that I came.