Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

The endless cycle of idea and action, / Endless invention, endless experiment, / Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness; / Knowledge of speech, but not of silence; / Knowledge of words, and ignorance of The Word.

So the lover must struggle for words.

Art never improves, but... the material of art is never quite the same.

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark, The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant

A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.

We learn what poetry is - if we ever learn - by reading it.