I have nowhere to go. The swift satellites show The clock of my whole being is slow.

It is too late to start For destinations not of the heart . I must stay here with my hurt.

I have known exile and a wild passion Of longing changing to a cold ache. King, beggar and fool , I have been all by turns, Knowing the body's sweetness, the mind 's treason ; Taliesin still, I show you a new world , risen, Stubborn with beauty , out of the heart 's need .

Poetry is that / which arrives at the intellect / by way of the heart.

I have nowhere to go. The swift satellites show The clock of my whole being is slow.

somewhere within sight of the tree of poetry that is eternity wearing the green leaves of time .

We live in our own world , A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge.