We ask only to be reassured About the noises in the cellar And the window that should not have been open
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
A thousand policemen directing traffic cannot tell you why you come or where you go.
Time present and time past / are both perhaps present in time future.
Liberty is a different kind of pain from prison.
Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow