At Midnight Tears Run Into Your Ears.

The Initial Mystery That Attends Any Journey Is: How Did The Traveler Reach His Starting Point In The First Place?

Poetry Is Often Generations In Advance Of The Thought Of Its Time.

But It's Silly To Suggest The Writing Of Poetry Is Something Ethereal, A Sort Of Soul-crashing, Devastating Emotional Experience That Wrings You. I Have No Fancy Ideas About Poetry. ... It Doesn't Come To You On The Wings Of A Dove. It's Something You Have To Work Hard At.

The Women Rest Their Tired Half-healed Hearts; They Are Almost Well.

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