Death is the mother of Beauty; hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.

Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.

It gives a man character as a poet to have a daily contact with a job. I doubt whether I've lost a thing by leading an exceedingly regular and disciplined life.

At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.

The imagination is the liberty of the mind It is intrpeid and eager and the extreme of its achievement lies in abstraction.

How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.

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