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.

I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.

The only way round is through.

Have I not walked without an upward look Of caution under stars that very well Might not have missed me when they shot and fell? It was a risk I had to take-and took.

It's God - I recognised him from Blake's picture.

I shall set forth for somewhere, I shall make the reckless choice Some say when they are in voice And tossing so as to scare The white clouds over them on, I shall have less to say, But I shall be none.

We ran as if to meet the moon.