All things therefore are charged with love, are charged with God and if we knew how to touch them give off sparks and take fire, yield drops and flow, ring and tell of him.
NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of manIn me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet; Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
Let Him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east.
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fallFrightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.
The Best ideal is the true and other truth is none. All glory be ascribed to the holy Three in One.
Where lies your landmark, seamark, or soul’s star?
The effect of studying masterpieces is to make me admire and do otherwise. So it must be on every original artist to some degree, on me to a marked degree.(from notes on ‘Heraclitean Fire’)
No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillionShine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
…O if we but knew what to do When we delve or hew— Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To touch, her being só slender,
It is the blight man was born for. It is Margaret you mourn for.
The poetical language of an age should be the current language heightened.
Religion, you know, enters very deep; in reality it is the deepest impression I have in speaking to people, that they are or that they are not of my religion.