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.
Death is the mother of Beauty; hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.
I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
Poetry is a satifying of the desire for resemblance.
Money is a kind of poetry.
Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates. It is of the nature of that in which it is found, whether the poem, the manner of a god, the bearing of a man. It is not a dress.