Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman -But who is that on the other side of you?

He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience.

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be: am an attendant lord, one that will do to swell a progress, start a scene or two, advise the prince.

A wrong attitude toward nature implies, somewhere, a wrong attitude toward God.

It is a test (a positive test, I do not assert that it is always valid negatively), that genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.

Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning, every poem an epitaph.

The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.