The worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are sober.

It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is

The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed.

Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.

Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.

Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.

Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.