Be secret and exult, Because of all things known That is most difficult.

We poets would die of loneliness but for women, and we choose our men friends that we may have somebody to talk about women with. Letter to Olivia Shakespeare, 1936

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

What can I but enumerate old themes?

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.

We had fed the heart on fantasies, The heart's grown brutal from the fare, More substance in our enmities Than in our love

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.