Live In A Perpetual Great

I Have Gone Into The Waste Lonely Places

The Indignity Of It!- With Everything Blooming Above Me, Lilies, Pale-pink Cyclamen, Roses, Whole Fields Lovely And Inviolate,- Me Down In The Fetor Of Weeds, Crawling On All Fours, Alive, In A Slippery Grave.

You Must Believe: A Poem Is A Holy Thing - A Good Poem, That Is. The Poem, Even A Short Time After Being Written, Seems No Miracle; Unwritten, It Seems Something Beyond The Capacity Of The Gods.

How Terrible The Need For God.

I Came Where The River Ran Over Stones; My Ears Knew An Early Joy. And All The Waters Of All The Streams Sang In My Veins That Summer Day.