Death will be too late to bring us aid.

I pick the hair from her eyes and watch her misery with compassion.

Everyone in this life is defeated but a man, if he be a man, is not defeated.

beauty’ is related not to ‘loveliness’ but to a state in which reality plays a part.

A poem is a small machine made of words. . .Its movement is intrinsic, undulant, a physical more than a literary character.

The descent beckons as the ascent beckoned

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.