I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me.

What are we? Young or new? We must be something.

It is absurd to think that the only way to tell if a poem is lasting is to wait and see if it lasts. The right reader of a good poem can tell the moment it strikes him that he has taken an immortal wound-that he will never get over it.

Nobody was ever meant, To remember or invent, What he did with every cent.

Education is hanging around until you've caught on.