The new year always brings us what we want Simply by bringing us along—to see A calendar with every day uncrossed, A field of snow without a single f….

And hate the bright stillness of the noon without wind, without motion. the only other living thing a hawk, hungry for prey, suspended in the blindin….

Old empires always appeal to modern poets more than new ones..

What we conceal Is always more than what we dare confide. Think of the letters that we write our dead..