The measured blood beats out the year's delay.
I'll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound.
Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.
O remember In your narrowing dark hours That more things move Than blood in the heart.
Innocence of heart and violence of feeling are necessary in any kind of superior achievement: The arts cannot exist without them.
At midnight tears Run into your ears.