She has something to say about what life is like-which is all we ask of poetry.

She has something to say about what life is like-which is all we ask of poetry.

Write out of love, write out of instinct, write out of reason. But always for money.

Come, drink the mystic wine of Night, Brimming with silence and the stars; While earth, bathed in this holy light, Is seen without its scars.

Life, alas, is very drear. Up with the glass! Down with the beer!

From compromise and things half done, Keep me with stern and stubborn pride; And when at last the fight is won, God, keep me still unsatisfied.

Nothing but blackness above And nothing that moves but the cars... God, if you wish for our love, Fling us a handful of stars!