Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
I had a lovers quarrel with the world.
Education is hanging around until you’ve caught on.
No memory of having starred atones for later disregard, or keeps the end from being hard.
Nobody was ever meant, To remember or invent, What he did with every cent.
I go to school the youth to learn the future.
Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me, and drench me in loneliness.
My sorrow, when she’s here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.
There is a tragic clash between Truth and the world. Pure undistorted truth burns up the world.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.