Word I was in my life alone, / Word I had no one left but God.
Than smoke and mist who better could appraise The kindred spirit of an inner haze?
Nor is there wanting in the press Some spirit to stand simply forth, Heroic in it nakedness, Against the uttermost of earth. The tale of earth's unhonored things Sounds nobler there than 'neath the sun; And the mind whirls and the heart sings, And a shout greets the daring one.
Two such as you with such a master speed, cannot be parted nor be swept away, from one another once you are agreed, that life is only life forevermore, together wing to wing and oar to oar.
(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;) And go along with you ere you lose sight Of what you came for and become like me, Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed, The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.
For, dear me, why abandon a belief, Merely because it ceases to be true, Cling to it long enough, and not a doubt, It will turn true again, for so it goes.
I shall set forth for somewhere, I shall make the reckless choice Some say when they are in voice And tossing so as to scare The white clouds over them on, I shall have less to say, But I shall be none.
There is little much beyond the grave, but the strong are saying nothing until they see.
Nothing is quite honest that is not commercial, but not everything commercial is honest.
Freud was way off base in considering sex the fundamental motivation. The ruling passion in men is minding each other's business.
Nature's never quite Sure she hasn't erred In her vague design.
And one of the three great things in the world is gossip, you know. First there's religion; and then there's science; and there's-and then there's friendly gossip. Those are the three-the three great things.
Nearly everybody is looking for something brave to do. I don't know why people shouldn't write poetry. That's brave.
As a confirmed astronomer I'm always for a better sky.
The sidelong glance is what you depend on.
The reason artists show so little interest In public freedom is because the freedom They've come to feel the need of is a kind No one can give them they can scarce attain The freedom of their own material.
Have I not walked without an upward look Of caution under stars that very well Might not have missed me when they shot and fell? It was a risk I had to take-and took.
Far in the pillared dark Thrush music went- Almost like a call to come in To the dark and lament. But no, I was out for stars: I would not come in. I meant not even if asked, And I hadn't been.
The best way to hate is the worst. 'Tis to find what the hated need, Never mind of what actual worth, And wipe that out of the earth. Let them die of unsatisfied greed.
I fail to see what fun, what satisfaction / A God can find in laughing at how badly / Men fumble at the possibilities.
The style is the man. Rather say the style is the way the man takes himself; and to be at all charming or even bearable, the way is almost rigidly prescribed. If it is with outer seriousness, it must be with inner humor. If it is with outer humor, it must be with inner seriousness. No other way will do.
Memento mori and obey the Lord. Art and religion love the somber chord.
For hard it is to keep from being King When it's in you and in the situation.
Hell is a half-filled auditorium.
Courage is of the heart by derivation, And great it is. But fear is of the soul.
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