Walk With The Dead For

Never Such Innocence, Never Before Or Since, As Changed Itself To Past Without A Word--the Men Leaving The Gardens Tidy, The Thousands Of Marriages Lasting A Little While Longer: Never Such Innocence Again.

Only One Ship Is Seeking Us, A Black-sailed Unfamiliar, Towing At Her Backa Huge And Birdless Silence. In Her Wakeno Waters Breed Or Break.

If You Tell A Novelist, 'life's Not Like That', He Has To Do Something About It. The Poet Simply Replies, 'no, But I Am.'

My Mother, Who Hates Thunderstorms, Holds Up Each Summer Day And Shakes It Out Suspiciously, Lest Swarms Of Grape-dark Clouds Are Lurking There.

I Am Not Sure, Once A Poet Has Found Out What Has Been Written Already, And How It Was Written - Once, In Short, He Has Learnt His Trade - That He Should Bother With Literature At All. Poetry Is Not Like Surgery, A Technique That Can Be Copied. Every Operation The Poet Performs Is Unique, And Need Never Be Done Again.