To follow the drops sliding from a lifting oar, Head up, while the rower breathes, and the small boat drifts quietly shoreward.

The soul has many motions, body one.

Reason? That dreary shed, that hutch for grubby schoolboys.

Teach as an old fishing guide takes out a beginner.

O Lord, may I never want to look good. O Jesus, may I always read it all: out loud and the very way it should be. May I never look at the other findings until I have come to my own true conclusions: May I care for the least of the young: and become aware of the one poem that each may have written; may I be aware of what each thing is, delighted with form, and wary of the false comparison; may I never use the word "brilliant."

I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs.

Time marks us while we are marking time.