When you read a poem, you may not get out of it all that the poet put into it, but you are different from the poet. You’re different from everybody else who is going to read the poem, so you should take from it what you need. Use it personally.

Well, life has been a baffled vehicleAnd baffling. But she fights, andHas fought, according to her lights andThe lenience of her whirling-place.She fights with semi-folded arms,Her strong bag, and the stiffFrost of her face (that challenges "When" and "If.")And altogether she does Rather Well.

People who have no children can be hard: Attain a mail of ice and insolence:

Her creamy child kissed by the black maid! square on the mouth! World yelled, world writhed, world turned to light and rolled Into her kitchen, nearly knocked her down.

I hold my honey and I store my bread In little jars and cabinets of my will. I label clearly, and each latch and lid I bid, Be firm till I return from hell. I am very hungry. I am incomplete. And none can tell when I may dine again.