Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.

How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics?

And I will find some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,/ Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves The brilliant moon and all the milky sky And all that famous harmony of leaves Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

Some burn damp faggots, others may consume The entire combustible world in one small room.

When we have blamed the wind we can blame love.

Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal; a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all.