What is this talked-of mystery of birth. But being mounted bareback on the earth?
One aged man - one man - can't fill a house.
That day she put our heads together, Fate had her imagination about her, Your head so much concerned with outer, Mine with inner, weather.
The best way out is always through.
A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments. The intervals are the tough things.