"You come too. My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make. It was no dream of the gift of idle hours, Or easy gold at the hand of king or queen Or anything but what one's hands can make."

"A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom."

"The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in a clarification of life—not necessarily a great clarification, such as Lowell or Emerson or Wordsworth might have given, but a momentary stay …"

"Poetry is what gets lost in translation."

"Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."