Revision is its own reward.

Below the incandescent stars / below the incandescent fruit, / the strange experience of beauty; / its existence is too much; / it tears one to pieces / and each fresh wave of consciousness / is poison.

As for butterflies, I can hardly conceive of one's attending upon you; but to question the congruence of the complement is vain, if it exists.

O to be a dragon, a symbol of the power of Heaven-of silk-worm size or immense; at times invisible. Felicitous phenomenon!

Poetry, that is to say the poetic, is a primal necessity.

I'm troubled. I'm dissatisfied. I'm Irish.

The enslaver is enslaved, the hater, harmed.