The nearest friends can go With anyone to death, comes so far short They might as well not try to go at all.

The rain to the wind said, You push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged--though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Freedom lies in being bold.

The chance is the remotest, Of its going much longer unnoticed, That I'm not keeping pace With the headlong human race

Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

Style is less the man than the way a man takes himself.