One Is Least Sure Of One's Self,

The Hiss Was Now Becoming A Roar - The Whole World Was A Vast Moving Screen Of Snow - But Even Now It Said Peace, It Said Remoteness, It Said Cold, It Said Sleep.

Poetry Will Absorb And Transmute, As It Always Has Done, And Glorify, All That We Can Know.

I Always Hankered To Be A Composer - I Was Mad About Music, Though I Never Studied Seriously, And Can't Read A Note. But I Learned To Play The Piano And Became Pretty Skillful At Improvisation, Especially After A Drop Or Two.

Time Is A Dream ... A Destroying Dream; It Lays Great Cities In Dust, It Fills The Seas; It Covers The Face Of Beauty, And Tumbles Walls.

Oh, I've Discarded A Great Many [poems]. And Occasionally I've Discarded And Then Resurrected. I Would Find A Crumpled Yellow Ball Of Paper In The Wastebasket, In The Morning, And Open It To See What The Hell I'd Been Up To; And Occasionally It Was Something That Needed Only A Very Slight Change To Be Brought Off, Which I'd Missed The Day Before.