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Poetry Begins In Trivial Metaphors, Pretty Metaphors, "grace" Metaphors, And Goes On To The Profoundest Thinking That We Have. Poetry Provides The One Permissible Way Of Saying One Thing And Meaning Another. People Say, "why Don’t You Say What You Mean?" We Never Do That, Do We, Being All Of Us Too Much Poets. We Like To Talk In Parables And In Hints And In Indirections - Whether From Diffidence Or Some Other Instinct.

-Robert Frost

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Poetry Begins In Trivial

Robert Frost

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Poetry Begins In Trivial Metaphors, Pretty Metaphors, "grace" Metaphors, And Goes On To The Profoundest Thinking That We Have. Poetry Provides The One Permissible Way Of Saying One Thing And Meaning Another. People Say, "why Don’t You Say What You Mean?" We Never Do That, Do We, Being All Of Us Too Much Poets. We Like To Talk In Parables And In Hints And In Indirections - Whether From Diffidence Or Some Other Instinct.

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Before I Built A Wall I'd Ask To Know What I Was Walling In Or Walling Out, And To Whom I Was Like To Give Offence. Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall, That Wants It Down.

When The Spent Sun Throws Up Its Rays On Cloud And Goes Down Burning Into The Gulf Below, No Voice In Nature Is Heard To Cry Aloud At What Has Happened. Birds, At Least Must Know It Is The Change To Darkness In The Sky. Murmuring Something Quiet In Her Breast, One Bird Begins To Close A Faded Eye; Or Overtaken Too Far From His Nest, Hurrying Low Above The Grove, Some Waif Swoops Just In Time To His Remembered Tree. At Most He Thinks Or Twitters Softly, 'safe! Now Let The Night Be Dark For All Of Me. Let The Night Be Too Dark For Me To See Into The Future. Let What Will Be, Be.

But Not Gold In Commercial Quantities, Just Enough Gold To Make The Engagement Rings And Marriage Rings Of Those Who Owned The Farm. What Gold More Innocent Could One Have Asked For?

I Have Never Started A Poem Yet Whose End I Knew. Writing A Poem Is Discovering.

There Is One Thing More Exasperating Than A Wife Who Can Cook And Won't, And That's A Wife Who Can't Cook And Will.

Now No Joy But Lacks Salt That Is Not Dashed With Pain And Weariness And Fault; I Crave The Stain Of Tears, The Aftermark Of Almost Too Much Love, The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

Pressed Into Service Means Pressed Out Of Shape.

A Breeze Discovered My Open Book And Began To Flutter The Leaves To Look

Thinking Is Not To Agree Or Disagree. That's Voting.

The Only Way Out Is Through.

Christian Inspirational

Two Roads Diverged In A Wood And I - I Took The One Less Traveled By, And That Has Made All The Difference.

Both T.s. Eliot And I Like To Play, But I Like To Play Euchre, While He Likes To Play Eucharist.

I Have Stood Still And Stopped The Sound Of Feet When Far Away An Interrupted Cry Came Over Houses From Another Street, But Not To Call Me Back Or Say Good-bye.

O Hushed October Morning Mild, Begin The Hours Of This Day Slow, Make The Day Seem To Us Less Brief... Retard The Sun With Gentle Mist; Enchant The Land With Amethyst.

All Thought Is A Feat Of Association; Having What's In Front Of You Bring Up Something In Your Mind That You Almost Didn't Know You Knew

The Only Way Around Is Through.

Nature's First Green Is Gold, Her Hardest Hue To Hold. Her Early Leaf's A Flower; But Only So An Hour. Then Leaf Subsides To Leaf. So Eden Sank To Grief, So Dawn Goes Down To Day. Nothing Gold Can Stay.

You Can't Trust God To Be Unmerciful. There You Have The Beginning Of All Wisdom.

(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.

Earth Would Soon Be Uninhabitable As The Moon. What For That Matter Had It Ever Been? Who Advised Man To Come And Live Therein?

The Ear Is The Only True Writer And The Only True Reader.

End Is A Gloomy Word.

Life Is Tons Of Discipline. Your First Discipline Is Your Vocabulary; Then Your Grammar And Your Punctuation Then, In Your Exuberance And Bounding Energy You Say You're Going To Add To That. Then You Add Rhyme And Meter. And Your Delight Is In That Power.

Nations Like The Cuban And The Swiss Can Never Hope To Wage A Global Mission. No Holy Wars For Them. The Most The Small Can Ever Give Us Is A Nuisance Brawl.

Love Has Earth To Which She Clings.

I Am One Who Has Been Acquainted With The Night

The Difference Between A Man And His Valet: They Both Smoke The Same Cigars, But Only One Pays For Them.

You Know How Cunningly Mankind Is Planned: We Have One Loving And One Hating Hand. The Loving's Made To Hold Each Other Like, While With The Hating Other Hand We Strike.

When I See Birches Bend To Left And Right... I Like To Think Some Boy's Been Swinging Them.

There Are Few Sorrows, However Poignant, In Which A Good Income Is Of No Avail.

The City Is All Right. To Live In One Is To Be Civilized, Stay Up And Read Or Sing And Dance All Night And See Sunrise By Waiting Up Instead Of Getting Up.

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.

And Were An Epitaph To Be My Story I'd Have A Short One Ready For My Own. I Would Have Written Of Me On My Stone: I Had A Lover's Quarrel With The World.

Poetry Should Be Common In Experience But Uncommon In Books.

God Turned To Speak To Me (don't Anybody Laugh); God Found I Wasn't There At Least Not Over Half.

One Aged Man - One Man - Can't Fill A House.

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?

For I Have Had Too Much Of Apple-picking:i Am Overtired Of The Great Harvest I Myself Desired.

Before I Built A Wall I'd Ask To Know What I Was Walling In Or Walling Out.

Belief Is Better Than Anything Else, And It Is Best When Rapt - Above Paying Its Respects To Anybody's Doubt Whatsoever.

Forgive Me My Nonsense, As I Also Forgive The Nonsense Of Those That Think They Talk Sense.

I Play Better Tennis Because The Court Is There.

O Hushed October Morning Mild, Thy Leaves Have Ripened To The Fall; Tomorrow's Wind, If It Be Wild, Should Waste Them All. The Crows Above The Forest Call; Tomorrow They May Form And Go. O Hushed October Morning Mild, Begin The Hours Of This Day Slow. Make The Day Seem To Us Less Brief. Hearts Not Averse To Being Beguiled, Beguile Us In The Way You Know. Release One Leaf At Break Of Day; At Noon Release Another Leaf; One From Our Trees, One Far Away.

I Would Not Come In. I Meant Not Even If Asked, And I Hadn't Been.

It's A Funny Thing That When A Man Hasn't Anything On Earth To Worry About, He Goes Off And Gets Married.

I Go To School The Youth To Learn The Future.

Love Is An Irresistible Desire To Be Irresistibly Desired.

Unless I'm Wrong I But Obey The Urge Of A Song: I'm-bound-away! And I May Return If Dissatisfied With What I Learn From Having Died.

Out Alone In The Winter Rain, / Intent On Giving And Taking Pain.

I'd Like To Get Away From Earth Awhile / And Then Come Back To It And Begin Over.

How Many Things Have To Happen To You Before Something Occurs To You?

Nearly Everybody Is Looking For Something Brave To Do. I Don't Know Why People Shouldn't Write Poetry. That's Brave.

So When At Times The Mob Is Swayed To Carry Praise Or Blame Too Far, We May Choose Something Like A Star To Stay Our Minds On And Be Staid.

The Rose Is A Rose, And Was Always A Rose. But The Theory Now Goes That The Apple's A Rose, And The Pear Is, And So's The Plum, I Suppose. The Dear Only Knows What Will Next Prove A Rose. You, Of Course, Are A Rose - But Were Always A Rose.

The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom... In A Clarification Of Life - Not Necessarily A Great Clarification, Such As Sects And Cults Are Founded On, But In A Momentary Stay Against Confusion.

They Cannot Scare Me With Their Empty Spaces Between Stars—on Stars Where No Human Race Is. I Have It In Me So Much Nearer Home To Scare Myself With My Own Desert Places.

Like A Piece Of Ice On A Hot Stove The Poem Must Ride On Its Own Melting. . . . Read It A Hundred Times; It Will Forever Keep Its Freshness As A Metal Keeps Its Fragrance. It Can Never Lose Its Sense Of A Meaning That Once Unfolded By Surprise As It Went.

Any Eye Is An Evil Eye That Looks In On To A Mood Apart.

And Nothing To Look Backward To With Pride, And Nothing To Look Forward To With Hope.

The Reason Why Worry Kills More People Than Work Is That More People Worry Than Work.

Education Is The Ability To Listen To Almost Anything Without Losing Your Temper Or Your Self-confidence.

The Sister's Face Fell All In Wrinkles Of Responsibility. She Wanted To Do Right. She'd Have To Think.

I Hold It To Be The Inalienable Right Of Anybody To Go To Hell In His Own Way.

I Dwell With A Strangely Aching Heart In That Vanished Abode There Far Apart

When Work Becomes Play, And Play Becomes Your Work, Your Life Unfolds.

Why Make So Much Of Fragmentary Blue In Here And There A Bird, Or Butterfly, Or Flower, Or Wearing-stone, Or Open Eye, When Heaven Presents In Sheets The Solid Hue?

If One By One We Counted People Out For The Least Sin, It Wouldn't Take Us Long To Get So We Had No One Left To Live With. For To Be Social Is To Be Forgiving.

I Am Not A Nature Poet. There Is Almost Always A Person In My Poems.

A Name With Meaning Could Bring Up A Child, Taking The Child Out Of The Parents' Hands. Better A Meaningless Name, I Should Say, As Leaving More To Nature And Happy Chance. Name Children Some Names And See What You Do.

Men Work Together, Whether They Work Together Or Apart.

Working Together

Loosely Bound By Countless Silken Ties Of Love And Thought To Everything On Earth The Compass Round

I'd Just As Soon Play Tennis With The Net Down.

"if It Were A Dog, It Would Have Bitten You Already." Actual Twents: "at E Ne Hond Was, Dan E Oew Allange Ebettene." Meaning: Said To Someone Who Is Looking For Something Which Is Right Under His Nose. Source: Twents Woordenbook. Twents In Woord En Gebruik.

Democracy Is The Best Chance For The Best People.

Many Lovers Have Been Divorced By Having What Is Free Enforced.

If Society Fits You Comfortably Enough, You Call It Freedom.

The Best Things And Best People Rise Out Of Their Separateness; I'm Against A Homogenized Society Because I Want The Cream To Rise.

States Strong Enough To Do Good Are But Few. Their Number Would Seem Limited To Three.

The People I Want To Hear About Are The People Who Take Risks.

The Sidelong Glance Is What You Depend On.

Here Are Your Waters And Your Watering Place. Drink And Be Whole Again Beyond Confusion.

Education Doesn't Change Life Much. It Just Lifts Trouble To A Higher Plane Of Regard.

Most Of The Change We Think We See In Life Is Due To Truths Being In And Out Of Favor.

Man That Is Of Woman Born Is Apt To Be As Vain Has His Mother.

The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

Modern Poets Talk Against Business, Poor Things, But All Of Us Write For Money. Beginners Are Subjected To Trial By Market.

An Idea Is A Feat Of Association.

I Have Wished A Bird Would Fly Away, And Not Sing By My House All Day.

My Goal In Life Is To Unite My Avocation With My Vocation, As My Two Eyes Make One In Sight.

Any Work Of Art Must First Of All Tell A Story.

Never Discuss The Poem You Contemplate Writing. It's Like Turning On The Outside Spigot. It Takes All The Pressure Off The Upstairs Bathroom.

To Be A Poet Is A Condition, Not A Profession.

A Poet Never Takes Notes. You Never Take Notes In A Love Affair.

One Luminary Clock Against The Sky Proclaimed The Time Was Neither Wrong Nor Right.

Nothing Gold Can Stay.

The Only Certain Freedom's In Departure.

Hope Is Not Found In A Way Out But A Way Through.

There Never Was Any Heart Truly Great And Generous, That Was Not Also Tender And Compassionate.

The Difference Between A Job And A Career Is The Difference Between Forty And Sixty Hours A Week.

All There Is To Writing Is Having Ideas. To Learn To Write Is To Learn To Have Ideas.

Courage Is Of The Heart By Derivation, And Great It Is. But Fear Is Of The Soul.

God Once Declared He Was True And Then Took The Veil And Withdrew.

Courage Is In The Air In Bracing Whiffs Better Than All The Stalemate An's And Ifs.

We're Either Nothing Or A God's Regret.

Human Condition

Of Course There Is Matter For Remark In Poems. Nobody Denies That. But It Must Be Solemnly Laid On Everybody In This World To Make His Own Observations And Remarks. That's What We Mean By Thinking, And That's About All We Mean. A Teacher Says To A Pupil "watch Me Notice A Few Things In The Next Few Months: Let's See You Notice A Few Things Too."

Home Is The Place Where, When You Have To Go There, They Have To Take You In.

I Have Miles To Go Before I Sleep.

Poets Need Not Go To Niagara To Write About The Force Of Falling Water.

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.

Only Where Love And Need Are One, And The Work Is Play For Mortal Stakes Is The Deed Ever Truly Done For Heaven And The Future's Sakes

Not Yesterday I Learned To Know The Love Of Bare November Days Before The Coming Of The Snow.

It Looked As If A Night Of Dark Intent Was Coming, And Not Only A Night, An Age. Someone Had Better Be Prepared For Rage.

Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak, Until We Found It Was Ourselves.

Space Ails Us Moderns: We Are Sick With Space.

Ends And Beginningsthere Are No Such Things. There Are Only Middles.

Beginnings And Ends

Beginning Middle And End

Goodbye My Love

Like A Piece Of Ice On A Hot Stove The Poem Must Ride On Its Own Melting.

We Love The Things We Love For What They Are.

Inspirational Love

A Liberal Is A Man Too Broadminded To Take His Own Side In A Quarrel.

I Still Say The Only Education Worth Anything Is Self-education.

The Trees That Have It In Their Pent-up Buds To Darken Nature And Be Summer Woods.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors.

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

Mind Your Own Business

A True Sonnet Goes Eight Lines And Then Takes A Turn For Better Or Worse And Goes Six Or Eight Lines More.

Half The World Is Composed Of People Who Have Something To Say And Can't, And The Other Half Who Have Nothing To Say And Keep On Saying It.

Writing Free Verse Is Like Playing Tennis With The Net Down.

The Truth Is The River Flows Into The Canyon Of Ceasing-to-question-what-doesn't-concern-us, As Sooner Or Later We Have To Cease Somewhere.

There Is Absolutely No Reason For Being Rushed Along With The Rush. Everybody Should Be Free To Go Slow.

Fireflies In The Garden By Robert Frost 1874–1963 Here Come Real Stars To Fill The Upper Skies, And Here On Earth Come Emulating Flies, That Though They Never Equal Stars In Size, (and They Were Never Really Stars At Heart) Achieve At Times A Very Star-like Start. Only, Of Course, They Can't Sustain The Part.

One Age Is Like Another For The Soul.

I Came From A Very Intellectual Neighborhood. When We Played Cowboys And Indians As Kids, I Had To Be Gandhi.

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 Is Little Much Beyond The Grave, But The Strong Are Saying Nothing Until They See.

A Poem Begins With A Lump In The Throat; A Homesickness Or A Love Sickness. It Is A Reaching-out Toward Expression; An Effort To Find Fulfillment. A Complete Poem Is One Where An Emotion Has Found Its Thought And The Thought Has Found Words.

Two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Wood, And Sorry I Could Not Travel Both And Be One Traveler, Long I Stood And Looked Down One As Far As I Could To Where It Bent In The Undergrowth.

The Chief Reason For Going To School Is To Get The Impression Fixed For Life That There Is A Book Side For Everything.

A Voice Said, Look Me In The Stars And Tell Me Truly, Men Of Earth, If All The Soul-and-body Scars Were Not Too Much To Pay For Birth.

The Strongest And Most Effective Force In Guaranteeing The Long-term Maintenance Of Power Is Not Violence In All The Forms Deployed By The Dominant To Control The Dominated, But Consent In All The Forms In Which The Dominated Acquiesce In Their Own Domination.

Nothing Can Make Injustice Just But Mercy.

Friends Make Pretence Of Following To The Grave But Before One Is In It, Their Minds Are Turned And Making The Best Of Their Way Back To Life And Living People And Things They Understand.

College Is A Refuge From Hasty Judgment.

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.

To Time It Never Seems That He Is Brave To Set Himself Against The Peaks Of Snow To Lay Them Level With The Running Wave, Nor Is He Overjoyed When They Lie Low, But Only Grave, Contemplative And Grave.

Haven't You Heard, Though, About The Ships Where War Has Found Them Out At Sea, About The Towns Where War Has Come Through Opening Clouds At Night With Droning Speed Further O'erhead Than All But Stars And Angels And Children In The Ships And In The Towns?

In Three Words I Can Sum Up Everything I've Learned About Life: It Goes On.

Poetry Is When An Emotion Has Found Its Thought And The Thought Has Found Words.

You're Always Believing Ahead Of Your Evidence. What Was The Evidence I Could Write A Poem? I Just Believed It. The Most Creative Thing In Us Is To Believe In A Thing.

The Truly Educated Can Listen To Any View Without Losing Their Temper Or Self-confidence.

Self Confidence

One Of The Hardest Things In Life To Accept Is A Called Third Strike.

The Fact Is The Sweetest Dream That Labor Knows.

What You Want, What You're Hanging Around In The World Waiting For, Is For Something To Occur To You.

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.

Take Care To Sell Your Horse Before He Dies. The Art Of Life Is Passing Losses On.

Freedom Lies In Being Bold.

You're Searching... For Things That Don't Exist; I Mean Beginnings. Ends And Beginnings - There Are No Such Things. There Are Only Middles.

I Often Say Of George Washington That He Was One Of The Few In The Whole History Of The World Who Was Not Carried Away By Power.

Skepticism, Is That Anything More Than We Used To Mean When We Said, Well, What Have We Here?

Poetry Is A Reaching Out Forward Expression, An Effort To Find Fulfillment

Word I Was In My Life Alone, / Word I Had No One Left But God.

Nothing Is Quite Honest That Is Not Commercial, But Not Everything Commercial Is Honest.

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.

As A Confirmed Astronomer I'm Always For A Better Sky.

More Men Die Of Worry Than Of Work, Because More Men Worry Than Work.

Only God And I Knew What I Meant When I Wrote It, Now Only God Knows

The Father Is Always A Republican Toward His Son, And His Mother's Always A Democrat.

The Best Way Out Is Always Through.

For I Thought Epicurus And Lucretius By Nature Meant The Whole Goddam Machinery.

Humour Is The Most Engaging Cowardice. With It Myself I Have Been Able To Hold Some Of My Enemy In Play Far Out Of Gunshot.

When I Was Young, I Was So Interested In Baseball That My Family Was Afraid I'd Waste My Life And Be A Pitcher. Later They Were Afraid I'd Waste My Life And Be A Poet. They Were Right.

A Jury Consists Of Twelve Persons Chosen To Decide Who Has The Better Lawyer.

My Sorrow, When She's Here With Me, Thinks These Dark Days Of Autumn Rain Are Beautiful As Days Can Be; She Loves The Bare, The Withered Tree; She Walks The Sodden Pasture Lane.

The Worst Disease Which Can Afflict Executives In Their Work Is Not, As Popularly Supposed, Alcoholism; It's Egotism.

There Would Be More Than Ocean-water Broken Before God's Last Put Out The Light Was Spoken.

Nothing Not Built With Hands Of Course Is Sacred. But Here Is Not A Question Of What's Sacred; Rather Of What To Face Or Run Away From. I'd Hate To Be A Runaway From Nature.

If You're Looking For Something To Be Brave About, Consider Fine Arts.

The Master Speed No Speed Of Wind Or Water Rushing By But You Have Speed Far Greater. You Can Climb Back Up A Stream Of Radiance To The Sky, And Back Through History Up The Stream Of Time. And You Were Given This Swiftness, Not For Haste Nor Chiefly That You May Go Where You Will, But In The Rush Of Everything To Waste, That You May Have The Power Of Standing Still-- Off Any Still Or Moving Thing You Say. Two Such As You With Such A Master Speed From One Another Once You Are Agreed That Life Is Only Life Forevermore Together Wing To Wing And Oar To Oar.

You've Got To Love What's Lovable, And Hate What's Hateable. It Takes Brains To See The Difference.

Our Lives Laid Down In War And Peace May Not Be Found Acceptable In Heaven's Sight. And That They May Be Is The Only Prayer Worth Praying. May My Sacrifice Be Found Acceptable In Heaven's Sight.

What We Live By We Die By.

Affection Is An Overpowering Craving To Be Compellingly Sought.

There Are Two Kinds Of Teachers: The Kind That Fill You With So Much Quail Shot That You Can't Move, And The Kind That Just Gives You A Little Prod Behind And You Jump To The Skies.

If The Writer Does Not Cry, The Reader Does Not Cry.

A Poet Must Never Make A Statement Simply Because It Sounds Poetically Exciting; He Must Also Believe It To Be True." - W. H. Auden "a Poem...begins As A Lump In The Throat, A Sense Of Wrong, A Homesickness, A Lovesickness...it Finds The Thought And The Thought Finds The Words.

The Nearest Friends Can Go With Anyone To Death, Comes So Far Short They Might As Well Not Try To Go At All.

Sentences Are Not Different Enough To Hold The Attention Unless They Are Dramatic. No Ingenuity Of Varying Structure Will Do. All That Can Save Them Is The Speaking Tone Of Voice Somehow Entangled In The Words And Fastened To The Page For The Ear Of The Imagination. That Is All That Can Save Poetry From Sing-song, All That Can Save Prose From Itself.

All Great Things Are Done For Their Own Sake.

Heaven Gives Its Glimpses Only To Those Not In Position To Look Too Close.

The Sun Was Warm But The Wind Was Chill. You Know How It Is With An April Day.

Than Smoke And Mist Who Better Could Appraise The Kindred Spirit Of An Inner Haze?

I Believe In Teaching, But I Don’t Believe In Going To School.

Keep All Ur Troubles In Ur Own Pocket. But, Make Sure That The Pocket Has A Hole!

It Is Absurd To Think That The Only Way To Tell If A Poem Is Lasting Is To Wait And See If It Lasts. The Right Reader Of A Good Poem Can Tell The Moment It Strikes Him That He Has Taken An Immortal Wound-that He Will Never Get Over It.

The Line-storm Clouds Fly Tattered And Swift, The Road Is Forlorn All Day, Where A Myriad Snowy Quartz Stones Lift, And The Hoof-prints Vanish Away. The Roadside Flowers, Too Wet For The Bee, Expend Their Bloom In Vain. Come Over The Hills And Far With Me, And Be My Love In The Rain.

I Never Take My Own Side In A Quarrel.

Tree At My Window, Window Tree, My Sash Is Lowered When Night Comes On; But Let There Never Be Curtain Drawn Between You And Me.

The Problem For The King Is Just How Strict The Lack Of Liberty, The Squeeze Of The Law And Discipline Should Be In School And State.

Poetry Is A Way Of Taking Life By The Throat.

A Champion Of The Workingman Has Never Been Known To Die Of Overwork.

Poetry Is About The Grief. Politics Is About The Grievance.

If One By One We Counted People Out

How Are We To Write The Russian Novel In America As Long As Life Goes So Unterribly?

I Do Not See Why I Should E’er Turn Back, Or Those Should Not Set Forth Upon My Track To Overtake Me, Who Should Miss Me Here And Long To Know If Still I Held Them Dear. They Would Not Find Me Changed From Him They Knew — Only More Sure Of All I Thought Was True.

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