Butterflies...flowers that fly and all but sing.

Life is tons of discipline.

The land was ours before we were the land's. She was our land more than a hundred years Before we were her people.

For dear me, why abandon a belief Merely because it ceases to be true

For me the initial delight is in the surprise of remembering something I didn't know I knew. I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew.

Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?

I never dared to be radical when young for fear it would make me conservative when old.