I live my life in widening circle That reach out across the world. I may not ever complete the last one, But I give myself to it. I circle around God, that primordial tower. I have been circling for thousands of years, And I still don't know: am I a falcon, A storm, or a great song? [I, 2]

Be-and yet know the great void where all things begin, the infinite source of your own most intense vibration, so that, this once, you may give it your perfect assent.

And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious, and great things.

Some day when I lose you, will you still be able to sleep, without me to whisper over you like a crown of linden branches?

All things want to float.

For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)-they are experiences.

The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.