Love is not love that wounded bleeds And bleeding sullies slow. Come death within my hands and I Unto my love will go.
I'll have your heart, if not by gift my knife Shall carve it out. I'll have your heart, your life.
The flower and fruit of love are mine The ant, the fieldmouse and the mole
I'm sorry to say my dear wife is a dreamer, and as she dreams she gets paler and leaner. Then be off to your Dream, with his fly-away hat, I stay with the girls who are happy and fat.
All poetry has to do is to make a strong communication. All the poet has to do is listen. The poet is not an important fellow. There will also be another poet.
I don't think Auden liked my poetry very much, he's very Anglican.
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