Words strain, Crack and sometimes break, under the burden, Under the tension, slip, slide, perish, Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place, Will not stay still.
My mind may be American but my heart is British.
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.
And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
To become what you are not, behave as you do not.
Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky