“As I walked out one evening, Walking down Bristol Street,The crowds upon the pavement Were fields of harvest wheat.And down by the brimming river I heard a lover singUnder an arch of the railway: 'Love has no ending.'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you Till China and Africa meet,And the river jumps over the mountain And the salmon sing in the street,'I'll love you till the ocean Is folded and hung up to dryAnd the seven stars go squawking Like geese about the sky.”

“All I have is a voice to undo the folded lie, the romantic lie in the brain of the sensual man-in-the-street and the lie of Authority whose buildings grope the sky: There is no such thing as the State and no one exists alone; Hunger allows no choice to the citizen or the police; We must love one another or die.”

“The desires of the heart are as crooked as corkscrewsNot to be born is the best for manThe second best is a formal orderThe dance's pattern, dance while you can.Dance, dance, for the figure is easyThe tune is catching and will not stopDance till the stars come down from the raftersDance, dance, dance till you drop.”

“Were all stars to disappear and die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time. —W. H. Auden, “The More Loving One”

“The More Loving OneLooking up at the stars, I know quite wellThat, for all they care, I can go to hell,But on earth indifference is the leastWe have to dread from man or beast.How should we like it were stars to burnWith a passion for us we could not return?If equal affection cannot be,Let the more loving one be me.Admirer as I think I amOf stars that do not give a damn,I cannot, now I see them, sayI missed one terribly all day.Were all stars to disappear or die,I should learn to look at an empty skyAnd feel its total dark sublime,Though this might take me a little time.”

“I will love you forever" swears the poet. I find this easy to swear too. "I will love you at 4:15 pm next Tuesday" - Is that still as easy?”

“How should we like it were stars to burnWith a passion for us we could not return?If equal affection cannot be,Let the more loving one be me.”