Do You Know How It Is When

Under Various Names, I Have Praised Only You, Rivers! You Are Milk And Honey And Love And Death And Dance. From A Spring In Hidden Grottoes, Seeping From Mossy Rocks, Where A Goddess Pours Live Water From A Pitcher, At Clear Streams In The Meadow, Where Rills Murmur Underground, Your Race And My Race Begin, And Amazement, And Quick Passage.

If I Am All Mankind, Are They Themselves Without Me?

Poetry Is News Brought To The Mountains By A Unicorn And An Echo.

I Have Defined Poetry As A 'passionate Pursuit Of The Real.

All Was Taken Away From You: White Dresses, Wings, Even Existence.