College is a refuge from hasty judgment.
It comes down to a doubt about the wisdom Of having children after having had them, So there is nothing we can do about it But warn the children they perhaps should have none.
There are few sorrows, however poignant, in which a good income is of no avail.
Most of the change we think we see in life is due to truths being in and out of favor.
When work becomes play, and play becomes your work, your life unfolds.
All those who try to go it sole alone, Too proud to be beholden for relief, Are absolutely sure to come to grief.
No, in country money, the country scale of gain, The requisite lift of spirit has never been found.
A poet never takes notes. You never take notes in a love affair.
Poets need not go to Niagara to write about the force of falling water.
It takes all sorts of in and outdoor schooling To get adapted to my kind of fooling.
It should be of the pleasure of a poem itself to tell how it can. The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom. The figure is the same for love.
At bottom the world isn't a joke. We only joke about it to avoid an issue with someone, to let someone know that we know he's there with his questions; to disarm him by seeming to have heard and done justice to his side of the standing argument.
There is no love. There's only love of men and women, love Of children, love of friends, of men, of God: Divine love, human love, parental love, Roughly discriminated for the rough.
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away / You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
A champion of the workingman has never been known to die of overwork.
If one by one we counted people out
Our very life depends on everything's Recurring till we answer from within.
I'd just as soon play tennis with the net down.
The Vermont mountains stretch extended straight; New Hampshire mountains curl up in a coil.
Nobody was ever meant, To remember or invent, What he did with every cent.
A poem begins with a lump in the throat
GATHERING LEAVES Spades take up leaves No better than spoons, And bags full of leaves Are light as balloons. I make a great noise Of rustling all day Like rabbit and deer Running away. But the mountains I raise Elude my embrace, Flowing over my arms And into my face. I may load and unload Again and again Till I fill the whole shed, And what have I then? Next to nothing for weight, And since they grew duller From contact with earth, Next to nothing for color. Next to nothing for use. But a crop is a crop, And who's to say where The harvest shall stop?
The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
It's hard to get into this world and hard to get out of it, and what's in between doesn't make much sense.
Let's get my incantation right: "I wish I may, I wish I might" Give earth another satellite.
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