“I am an i poet.”

“And now you are and I am and we're a mystery which will never happen again.”

“Like the burlesque comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement.”

“the hillslike poets put onpurple thought againstthe magnificent clamor ofdaytorturedin gold”

“Really unreal world, will you perhaps dothe breathing for me while I am away?”

“You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and— Just tired. So am I.”

“i am a little church(no great cathedral)far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities--i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,i am not sorry when sun and rain make aprilmy life is the life of the reaper and the sower;my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving(finding and losing and laughing and crying)childrenwhose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladnessaround me surges a miracle of unceasingbirth and glory and death and resurrection:over my sleeping self float flaming symbolsof hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountainsi am a little church(far from the franticworld with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature--i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;i am not sorry when silence becomes singingwinter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire tomerciful Him Whose only now is forever:standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)”