There is no place like it, no place with an atom of its glory, pride, and exultancy. It lays its hand upon a man's bowels; he grows drunk with ecstasy; he grows young and full of glory, he feels that he can never die.

That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again and ever again, this soiled world.

All truths wait in all things,/They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it

I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least.

The poet judges not as a judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing.

I sing the body that is electric! I celebrate the Self yet to be unveiled!

O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, you express me better than I can express myself.