"Kiss and cling to them, kiss and leave them, Bright and beguiling:— Bright and beguiling, as She who glances Along the shore and the meadows along, And sings for heart's delight, and dances Crowned with apples, and ruddy, and strong:— Can we see thee, and not remember Thy sun-brown cheek and hair sun-golden, O sweet September?"

"The Sun whispers, O remember! You have but thirty days to run, O sweet September!"

"Follow, O follow!—and we follow"

"In the hollow Silver voices ripple and cry Follow, O follow!"

"With the cry I wake;—and around me The mother and child at her feet Breathe peace in even whispers; And the night falls heavy and sweet."

"Earth all one tomb lies round me, Domed with an iron sky: And God Himself in His power, God cannot save me! I cry."

"I see the lost Love in beauty Go gliding over the main: I feel the ancient sweetness, The worm and the wormwood again."

"Sleep puts out silent fingers, And leads me back to the roar Of the dead salt sea that vomits Wrecks of the past ashore."

"Let the children play And sit like flowers upon thy grave And crown with flowers,—that hardly have A briefer blooming-tide than they."

"Time's corrosive dewdrop eats The giant warrior to a crust Of earth in earth and rust in rust."

"In the season of white wild roses We two went hand in hand: But now in the ruddy autumn Together already we stand."

"The azure lake is argent now Beneath the pale moonshine: I seek a sign of hope in heaven: Fair Polestar! thou are mine. A thousand other beacons blaze; I follow thee alone..."

"When once the mind has raised itself to grasp and to delight in excellence, those who love most will be found to love most wisely."

"This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others in the attempt made to include in it all the best original lyrical pieces and songs in our language, by writers not living, and none besides the best. The Editor will regard as his fittest readers those who love poetry so well, that he can offer them nothing not already known and valued."

"People are usually made Dames for virtues I do not possess."

"Each of them is inhabited by a bland demon, as the German metaphysicians used to call that which gets into a man and makes him creative, not so forcibly that it turns them away from criticism, but valid enough to give them the right to speak with the authority of artists."

"Her tall figure, swathed in black, looking like some strange eccentric bird... she seemed like an ageing princess come home from exile."

"I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not. … I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. … I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it."

"Small things I handled and caressed and loved. I let the stars assume the whole of night.But the big answers clamoured to be moved Into my life. Their great audacity Shouted to be acknowledged and believed."

"I'm afraid I'm being an awful nuisance."

"Good taste is the worst vice ever invented."

"I am resigned to the fact that people who don't know me loathe me. Perhaps it is because I am a woman writing poetry. It must be annoying to a man who wants to write to see this horrid old lady who can."

"The aim of flattery is to soothe and encourage us by assuring us of the truth of an opinion we have already formed about ourselves."

"I wouldn't dream of following a fashion... how could one be a different person every three months?"

"The living blind and seeing Dead together lie As if in love . . . There was no more hating then, And no more love; Gone is the heart of Man."

"Our hearts seemed safe in our breasts and sang to the Light — The marrow in the bone We dreamed was safe. . . the blood in the veins, the sap in the tree Were springs of Deity."

"Mother or Murderer, you have given or taken life — Now all is one!"

"Remember only this of our hopeless love That never till Time is done Will the fire of the heart and the fire of the mind be one."

"The flames of the heart consumed me, and the mind Is but a foolish wind."

"The great gold planet that is the mourning heat of the Sun Is greater than all gold, more powerful Than the tawny body of a Lion that fire consumes Like all that grows or leaps... so is the heart More powerful than all dust."

"See, see where Christ's blood streames in the firmament: It flows from the Brow we nailed upon the tree Deep to the dying, to the thirsting heart That holds the fires of the world, — dark-smirched with pain As Caesar's laurel crown. Then sounds the voice of One who like the heart of man Was once a child who among beasts has lain — "Still do I love, still shed my innocent light, my Blood, for thee.""

"Still falls the Rain — Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man's wounded Side: He bears in His Heart all wounds, — those of the light that died, The last faint spark In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad uncomprehending dark..."

"Still falls the Rain At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross. Christ that each day, each night, nails there, have mercy on us —"

"Still falls the Rain — Dark as the world of man, black as our loss — Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails Upon the Cross."

"Oh how the Vacancy Laughed at them rushing by. "Turn again, flesh and brain, Only yourselves again! How far above the ape Differing in each shape, You with your regular Meaningless circles are!""

"White as a winding sheet, Masks blowing down the street: Moscow, Paris London, Vienna — all are undone. The drums of death are mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, Mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, The world's floors are quaking, crumbling and breaking."

"Within your magic web of hair, lies furled The fire and splendour of the ancient world; The dire gold of the comet's wind-blown hair; The songs that turned to gold the evening air When all the stars of heaven sang for joy."

"Tall windows show Infinity; And, hard reality, The candles weep and pry and dance Like lives mocked at by Chance. The rooms are vast as Sleep within; When once I ventured in, Chill Silence, like a surging sea, Slowly enveloped me."

"The busy chatter of the heat Shrilled like a parakeet; And shuddering at the noonday light The dust lay dead and whiteAs powder on a mummy's face, Or fawned with simian grace Round booths with many a hard bright toy And wooden brittle joy:The cap and bells of Time the Clown That, jangling, whistled down Young cherubs hidden in the guise Of every bird that flies;And star-bright masks for youth to wear, Lest any dream that fare — Bright pilgrim — past our ken, should see Hints of Reality."

"I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it."

"There are people, also, who cannot believe that beauty and gaiety are a part of goodness. When we think of cruelty, we must try to remember the stupidity, the envy, the frustration from which it has arisen."

"I'm not the man to baulk at a low smell, I’m not the man to insist on asphodel. This sounds like a He-fellow, don’t you think? It sounds like that. I belch, I bawl, I drink."

"Vulgarity is, in reality, nothing but a modern, chic, pert descendant of the goddess Dullness."

"Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the man of genius and the aristocrat are frequently regarded as eccentrics because genius and aristocrat are entirely unafraid of and uninfluenced by the opinions and vagaries of the crowd."

"The public will believe anything, so long as it is not founded on truth."