I have wished you something None of the others would.

I have a sense of melancholy isolation, life rapidly vanishing, all the usual things. It's very strange how often strong feelings don't seem to carry any message of action

It becomes still more difficult to find
Words at once true and kind,
Or not untrue and not unkind.

And the case of butterflies so rich it looks As if all summer settled there and died.

I'm terrified of the thought of time passing (or whatever is meant by that phrase) whether I 'do' anything or not. In a way I may believe, deep down, that doing nothing acts as a brake on 'time's - it doesn't of course. It merely adds the torment of having done nothing, when the time comes when it really doesn't matter if you've done anything or not.

One of the great criticisms of poets of the past is that they said one thing and did another.

Poetry should begin with emotion in the poet, and end with the same emotion in the reader. The poem is simply the instrument of transferance.