I wish I could find an event that meant as much as simple seeing.

A lively understandable spirit Once entertained you. It will come again. Be still. Wait.

And I rejoiced in being what I was.

The visible exhausts me. I am dissolved in shadow.

I came where the river Ran over stones; My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.

A too explicit elucidation in education destroys much of the pleasure of learning. There should be room for sly hinters, masters of suggestion.

You must believe: a poem is a holy thing - a good poem, that is. The poem, even a short time after being written, seems no miracle; unwritten, it seems something beyond the capacity of the gods.