I have wished a bird would fly away,And not sing by my house all day;Have clapped my hands at him from the doorWhen it seemed as if I could bear no more.The fault must partly have been in me.The bird was not to blame for his keys.And of course there must be something wrongIn waiting to silence any song.

Originality and initiative are what I ask for my country.

No orchard's the worse for the wintriest storm;But one thing about it, it mustn't get warm."How often already you've had to be told,Keep cold, young orchard. Good-bye and keep cold.Dread fifty above more than fifty below."I have to be gone for a season or so.

Някои казват, че светът ще свърши в искри,в лед други твърдят.От каквото съм познак с желание да гориподкрепям онзи, който огън твърди.Два пъти ако ще мре светът,мисля, видял съм достатъчно омразаи да свърши в лед, аз твърдяе отговор блазнещ-достатъчен при това.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Summary riposte To the dreary wail There's no knowing what Love is all about. Poets know a lot.

Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments. The intervals are the tough things.

When clever people ask me where I get a poem, I despair.

Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.