Nothing can happen more beautiful than death.

Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn'd love; But now I think there is no unreturn'd love—the pay is certain, one way or another; (I loved a certain person ardently, and my love was not return'd; Yet out of that, I have written these songs.)

This face is a dog's snout sniffing for garbage, snakes nest in that mouth, I hear the sibilant threat.

And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero.

Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding; And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.

All truths wait in all things.

Every hour of every day is an unspeakably perfect miracle.