Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.
Wallace StevensCome live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.
Anne SextonTags: poetry moderation exuberance poem poets saints
Your thighs are appletrees. Your knees are a southern breeze.
William Carlos WilliamsTell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Tags: poetry
Resist much, obey little.
Walt WhitmanTags: poetry
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The poet's job is to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so difficult to name, to tell the truth in such a beautiful way, that people cannot live without it.
Jane KenyonI wanted all things
To seem to make some sense,
So we could all be happy, yes,
Instead of tense.
And I made up lies
So that they all fit nice,
And I made this sad world
A par-a-dise.
Tags: poetry consolatory
Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.
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