Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

We fight to keep something alive rather than in the expectation that anything will triumph.

I grow old … I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

A wrong attitude towards nature implies, somewhere, a wrong attitude towards God, and that the consequence is an inevitable doom. For a long enough time we have believed in nothing but the values arising in a mechanized, commercialized, urbanized way of life: it would be as well for us to face the permanent conditions upon which God allows us to live upon this planet.

Poetry should help, not only to refine the language of the time, but to prevent it from changing too rapidly.

Signs are taken for wonders. / 'We would see a sign!' / The word within a word, unable to speak a word, / Swaddled with darkness.

The communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.