Selected Poems 1908-1969

What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee
What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage

woe to them that conquer with armies
and whose only right is thier power.

filial, fraternal affection is the root of humaneness
the root of the process
nor are elaborate speeches and slick alacrity.

To study with the white wings of time passing
is not that our delight
to have friends come from far countries
is not that pleasure
nor to care that we are untrumpeted?

I don't know how humanity stands it
with a painted paradise at the end of it
without a painted paradise at the end of it

Time is the evil. Evil.

What is the use of talking, and there is no end of talking,
There is no end of things in the heart.

And if you ask how I regret that parting:
It is like the flowers falling at Spring's end
Confused, whirled in a tangle.