Malt does more than Milton can To justify God’s ways to man.
The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.
And how am I to face the odds of man’s bedevilment and God’s? I a stranger and afraid in a world I never made.
Clay lies still but blood’s a rover Breath’s a ware that will not keep Up lad when the journey’s over There’ll be time enough to sleep.
The loveliest of trees the cherry now is hung with bloom along the bough and stands about the woodland ride wearing white for Eastertide.
Clay lies still but blood’s a rover Breath’s a ware that will not keep. Up lad: when the journey’s over There’ll be time enough to sleep.
I a stranger and afraid in a world I never made.
Three minutes’ thought would suffice to find this out . but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.
Nature not content with denying him the ability to think has endowed him with the ability to write.
Experience has taught me, when I am shaving of a morning, to keep watch over my thoughts, because, if a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.
Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out… Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.