There may be a time when we'll attend Weather Theaters to recall the sensation of rain.

I end not far from my going forth,By picking the faded blue;Of the last remaining aster flower,To carry again to you.

A voice said, Look me in the stars And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth.

It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage.

The way a crow Shook down on me. The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood. And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.