A finite image of Infinity:
This is the nature of all poetry.
all human work to its last limit tends;
Its archetype in Heaven never ends.
What is the sense...
But the real travelers are those who leave for leaving’s sake; their hearts are light as balloons, they never diverge from the path of their fate...
HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
You who celebrate bygones!
Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races—the life that has exhibited itself;
Who have treated of man as the creature of...
It is Death which consoles men, alas, and keeps them alive. Death is the aim of life; it is the only hope which, like an elixir,...
I have a need of silence and of stars.
Too much is said too loudly. I am dazed.
The silken road of whirled infinity
Is lost in voices shouting...
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
NO lover saith, I love, nor any other
Can judge a perfect lover ;
He thinks that else none can or will agree,
That any loves but he ;
Under a bleak white light she runs, dances and writhes without reason – Life, shameless and shrill. And so, as soon as on the horizon
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
…Poems amount to so little when you write them too early in your life. You ought to wait and gather sense and sweetness for a whole...