The Irish say your trouble is their trouble and your joy their joy? I wish I could believe it; I am troubled, I'm dissatisfied, I'm Irish.
Truly as the sun can rot or mend, love can make one bestial or make a beast a man.
Excess is the common substitute for energy.
As contagion of sickness makes sickness, contagion of trust can make trust.
I see no reason for calling my work poetry except that there is no other category in which to put it.
The prey of fear, he, always curtailed, extinguished, thwarted by the dusk, work partly done, says to the alternating blaze, "Again the sun! anew each day; and new and new and new, that comes into and steadies my soul."