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I could give all to Time except--except What I myself have held.
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No memory of having starred atones for later disregard, or keeps the end from being hard.
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Before now poetry has taken notice Of wars, and what are wars but politics Transformed from chronic to acute and bloody?
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Why make so much of fragmentary blue. In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?
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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.
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To Time it never seems that he is brave To set himself against the peaks of snow To lay them level with the running wave, Nor is he overjoyed when they lie low, But only grave, contemplative and grave.
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I am glad the invitation pleases your family. It will please my family to the fourth generation and my family of friends and, were they living, it would have pleased inordinately the kind of Grover Cleveland Democrats I had for parents.
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Only God and I knew what I meant when I wrote it, now only God knows.
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If you don't know how great this country is, I know someone who does; Russia.
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The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day. When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, a cloud come over the sunlit arch, And wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.
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Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year. Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night; And make us happy in the happy bees, The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
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Trust him to have his bitter politics Against his unacquaintances the rich. Who sleep in houses of their own, though mortgaged. Conservatives, they don't know what to save.
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The truly educated can listen to any view without losing their temper or self-confidence.
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Lord, I have loved Your sky, Be it said against or for me, Have loved it clear and high, Or low and stormy....
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'Warm in December, cold in June, you say?' I don't suppose the water's changed at all. You and I know enough to know it's warm Compared with cold, and cold compared with warm. But all the fun's in how you say a thing.
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Democracy is the best chance for the best people.
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For I thought Epicurus and Lucretius By Nature meant the Whole Goddam Machinery.
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In spring more mortal singers than belong To any one place cover us with song. Thrush, bluebird, blackbird, sparrow, and robin throng....
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Writing a poem is discovering.
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No wonder poets sometimes have to seem. So much more business-like than business men./ Their wares are so much harder to get rid of.
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The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to the ocean- Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.
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I alone of English writers have consciously set myself to make music out of what I may call the sound of sense.
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Many lovers have been divorced By having what is free enforced.
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I could define poetry this way: it is that which is lost out of both prose and verse in translation.