Poetry is, above all, an approach to the truth of feeling.
Not all things are blest, but the seeds of all things are blest.
I speak to you. You speak to me. Is that fragile?
What three things can never be done? / Forget. Keep silent. Stand alone
Those who speak of our culture as dead or dying have a quarrel with life, and I think they cannot understand its terms, but must endlessly repeat the projection of their own desires.
dogma and shrinking from the external world are at one limit of the range of belief. At the other are science and poetry and, indeed, reality.