I Don't Like Quintessential Certitude.

I'll Lie Here And Learn How, Over Their Ground, Trees Make A Long Shadow And A Light Sound.

Song, Like A Wing, Tears Through My Breast, My Side, And Madness Chooses Out My Voice Again, Again.

It Is Not Possible, For A Poet, Writing In Any Language, To Protect Himself From The Tragic Elements In Human Life.... [ellipsis In Source] Illness, Old Age, And Death--subjects As Ancient As Humanity--these Are The Subjects That The Poet Must Speak Of Very Nearly From The First Moment That He Begins To Speak.

True Revolutions In Art Restore More Than They Destroy.

O God, In The Dream The Terrible Horse Began To Paw At The Air, And Make For Me With His Blows.