Compare the silent rose of the sun And rain, the blood-rose living in its smell, With this paper, this dust. That states the point.

The consolations of space are nameless things. It was after the neurosis of winter. It was In the genius of summer that they blew up The statue of Jove among the boomy clouds. It took all day to quieten the sky And then to refill its emptiness again.

We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.

Poetry is the statement of a relation between a man and the world

I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms; But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know.

How has the human spirit ever survived the terrific literature with which it has had to contend?

Civilization must be destroyed. The hairy saints of the North have earned this crumb by their complaints.