No doubt my poetry errs on the side of oddness. I hope in time to have a more balanced and Miltonic style. But as air, melody, is what strikes me most of all in music, and design in painting, so design, pattern, or what I am in the habit of calling inscape is what I above all aim at in poetry. Now it is the virtue of design, pattern, or inscape to be distinctive, and it is the vice of distinctiveness to become queer. This vice I cannot have escaped.

All the world is full of inscape and chance left free to act falls into an order as well as purpose.

The poetical language of an age should be the current language heightened, to any degree heightened and unlike itself, but not...an obsolete one.

I thought how sadly beauty of inscape was unknown and buried away from simple people and yet how near at hand it was if they had eyes to see it and it could be…

Good prose is written only face to face with poetry.

Praying is another way of singing. You plant in the tree the soul of lemons. You plant in the gardens the spirit of roses.

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.