He could not be captured, He could not be bought, His running was rhythm, His standing was thought; With one eye on sorrow And one eye on mirth, He galloped in heaven And gambolled on earth And only the poet With wings to his brain Can mount him and ride him Without any rein, The stallion of heaven, The steed of the skies, The horse of the singer Who sings as he flies.

From the blood of Medusa Pegasus sprang. His hoof of heaven Like melody rang.

I was a little overworked. I had been reading a great number of manuscripts in the preceding weeks, and the mere sight of typescript was a burden to me. But be…

Praise with elation, Praise every morning, God's re-creation Of the new day!

With a sudden sharp hot stink of fox, It enters the dark hole of the head. The window is starless still; the clock ticks, The page is printed.

A friend came over to the house a few days ago and read one of my poems. He came back today and asked to read the same poem over again. After he finished readi…

But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay, Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows, And others' feet still seemed but strangers in…