Rapture's Self Is Three Parts Sorrow.

You Are Ice And Fire The Touch Of You Burns My Hands Like Snow.

I Never Deny Poems When They Come; Whatever I Am Doing, Whatever I Am Writing, I Lay It Aside And Attend To The Arriving Poem.

Witches Are Moon-birds, Witches Are The Women Of The False, Beautiful Moon.

Happiness, To Some, Elation; Is, To Others, Mere Stagnation.

Lilacs, False Blue, White, Purple, Colour Of Lilac, Your Great Puffs Of Flowers Are Everywhere In This My New England ... Lilacs In Dooryards Holding Quiet Conversation With An Early Moon; Lilacs Watching A Deserted House; ... Lilacs, Wind-beaten, Staggering Under A Lopsided Shock Of Bloom, You Are Everywhere.