The Chief Reason For Going To School

Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know. His House Is In The Village Though; He Will Not See Me Stopping Here To Watch His Woods Fill Up With Snow.

You've Often Heard Me Say - Perhaps Too Often - That Poetry Is What Is Lost In Translation. It Is Also What Is Lost In Interpretation. That Little Poem Means Just What It Says And It Says What It Means, Nothing Less But Nothing More.

Nature Does Not Complete Things. She Is Chaotic. Man Must Finish, And He Does So By Making A Garden And Building A Wall.

Why Make So Much Of Fragmentary Blue In Here And There A Bird, Or Butterfly, Or Flower, Or Wearing-stone, Or Open Eye, When Heaven Presents In Sheets The Solid Hue?

When I See Birches Bend To Left And Right... I Like To Think Some Boy's Been Swinging Them.