Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.

Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments. The intervals are the tough things.

There are three things, after all, that a poem must reach: the eye, the ear, and what we may call the heart or the mind. It is the most important of all to reach the heart of the reader.

The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day.

Clouds come floating into my life from other days no longer to shed rain or usher storm but to give colour to my sunset sky.