Poetical appreciation is only newly bursting on me.

Nobody ever told me what to read, or ever put poetry in my way

The darkness crumbles away It is the same old druid Time as ever.

I will not leave a corner of my consciousness covered up, but saturate myself with the strange and extraordinary new conditions of this life, and it will all refine itself into poetry later on.

Earth has waited for them, All the time of their growth Fretting for their decay: Now she has them at last.

I can only say that one's individual situation is more real and important to oneself than the devastations of fates and empires especially when they do not vitally affect oneself

Poetical appreciation is only newly bursting on me.