Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair. And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice

My tribute to mystical, magical trees that the Cherokee called "standing people. . . ."

Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.

Poetry is poetry, and one's objective as a poet is to achieve poetry precisely as one's objective in music is to achieve music.

Unfortunately there is nothing more inane than an Easter carol. It is a religious perversion of the activity of Spring in our blood.

As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.

Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal.