When I am alone I am happy.

O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. The twigs conspire against you! Hear hem! They hold you from behind.

A poem is a small machine made of words.

But the sea which no one tends is also a garden

What "love" is I don't know if it's not the response of our deepest natures to one another.

THE THOUGHTFUL LOVER Deny yourself all half things. Have it or leave it. But it will keep—or it is not worth the having. Never start anything you can't finish— However do not lose faith because you are starved! She loves you she says. Believe it —tomorrow. But today the particulars of poetry that difficult art require your whole attention.

Either I exist or I do not exist, and no amount of pap which I happen to be lapping can dull me to the loss.