Nearly everybody is looking for something brave to do. I don't know why people shouldn't write poetry. That's brave.

The hurt is not enough: I long for weight and strength. To feel the earth as rough to all my length

You have freedom when you're easy in your harness.

But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.

There is absolutely no reason for being rushed along with the rush. Everybody should be free to go slow.

Something sinister in the tone Told me my secret must be known: Word I was in the house alone Somehow must have gotten abroad, Word I was in my life alone, Word I had no one left but God.