At the earliest ending of winter,
In March, a scrawny cry from outside
Seemed like a sound in his mind.
...
Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.
...
The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night
Was like the conscious being of the book.
...
Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
...
The old brown hen and the old blue sky,
Between the two we live and die--
The broken cartwheel on the hill.
...
Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.
...
Among the more irritating minor ideas
Of Mr. Homburg during his visits home
To Concord, at the edge of things, was this:
...
Twenty men crossing a bridge,
Into a village,
Are twenty men crossing twenty bridges,
Into twenty villages,
...
Weight him down, O side-stars, with the great weightings of
the end.
Seal him there. He looked in a glass of the earth and thought
he lived in it.
...
As the immense dew of Florida
Brings forth
The big-finned palm
And green vine angering for life,
...