At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
Throw away the light, the definitions, and say what you see in the dark.
Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!
It is the unknown that excites the ardor of scholars, who, in the known alone, would shrivel up with boredom.
It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem.
Anything is beautiful if you say it is.