Need we say it was not love, Now that love is perished?
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain – Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start.
After the feet of beauty fly my own.
Please don’t think me negligent or rude. I am both, in effect, of course, but please don’t think me either.
I find that I never lose Bach. I don’t know why I have always loved him so. Except that he is so pure, so relentless and incorruptible, like a principle of geometry.
My candle burns at both ends.
I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.
There are a hundred places where I fear To go, – so with his memory they brim! And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, ‘There is no memory of him here!’ And so stand stricken, so remembering him!
I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with you all through my life?-sharing my fire, my bed, Sharing-oh, worst of all things!-the same head?- And, when I feed myself, feeding you too?
Oh, you mean I’m a homosexual! Of course I am, and heterosexual too, but what’s that got to do with my headache?
I am not a tentative person. Whatever I do, I give up my whole self to it...
When you are corn and roses and at rest I shall endure, a dense and sanguine ghost To haunt the scene where I was happiest To bend above the thing I loved the most.
Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass, This life can be. Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass, not beautiful Because common, beautiful because beautiful, Noble because common, because free.
Blessed be Death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust!
The heart grows weary after a little Of what it loved for a little while.
Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that; but some place set apart for it.
Life must go on, Though good men die.
Evil alone has oil for every wheel.