It is almost impossible for the poetess, once laurelled, to take off the crown for good or to reject values and taste of those who tender it.

I'll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound.

Because language is the carrier of ideas, it is easy to believe that it should be very little else than such a carrier.

O remember In your narrowing dark hours That more things move Than blood in the heart.

...in a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart.

No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.

At midnight tears Run into your ears.