The poem is always the last resort. In it the poet makes a world in little, and finds peace, even though, under complete focused emotion, the evocation be far more bitter than reality, or far more lovely.

It is not possible, for a poet, writing in any language, to protect himself from the tragic elements in human life.... [ellipsis in source] Illness, old age, and death--subjects as ancient as humanity--these are the subjects that the poet must speak of very nearly from the first moment that he begins to speak.

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

The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?

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

But is there any reason to believe that a woman's spiritual fibre is less sturdy than a man's? Is it not possible for a woman to come to terms with herself if not with the world; to withdraw more and more, as time goes on, her own personality from her productions; to stop childish fears of death and eschew charming rebellions against facts?

It is through the acceptance of a variety of aethetic and intellectual points of view that a culture is given breadth and density.