I have been Merlin wandering in the woods Of a far country, where the winds waken Unnatural voices , my mind broken By a sudden acquaintance with man….

You have to imagine a waiting that is not impatient because it is timeless..

Now the power of the imagination is a unifying power, hence the force of metaphor; and the poet is the supreme manipulator of metaphor... the world n….

It is too late to start For destinations not of the heart . I must stay here with my hurt..

Deliver me from the long drought of the mind. Let leaves from the deciduous Cross fall on us, washing us clean, turning our autumn to gold by the aff….

The darkness is the deepening shadow of your presence; the silence a process in the metabolism of the being of love..

Imaginative truth is the most immediate way of presenting ultimate reality to a human being... ultimate reality is what we call God..

Is there a place here for the spirit ? Is there time on this brief platform for anything other than mind 's failure to explain itself?.

Sunlight 's a thing that needs a window Before it enter a dark room. Windows don't happen." So two old poets, Hunched at their beer in the low haze O….

I have seen the sun break through to illuminate a small field for a while, and gone my way and forgotten it. But that was the pearl of great pric….

Ah, what balance is needed at the edges of such an abyss. I am left alone on the surface of a turning planet. What to do but, like Michelangelo's Ada….

Art is recuperation from time. I lie back convalescing upon the prospect of a harvest already at hand..

The old men ask for more time; the young waste it. And the philosopher simply smiles, knowing there is none there..

Even God had a Welsh name : He spoke to him in the old language; He was to have a peculiar care For the Welsh people. History showed us He was too bi….

You cannot find the centre Where we dance , where we play, Where life is still asleep Under the closed flower , Under the smooth shell Of eggs in the….

I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow..

The furies are at home in the mirror; it is their address. Even the clearest water, if deep enough can drown. Never think to surprise them. Your face….

I'm obviously not orthodox, I don't know how many real poets have ever been orthodox..

Natural, hell! What was it Chaucer Said once about the long toil that goes like blood to the poems making? Leave it to nature and the verse sprawls, ….

somewhere within sight of the tree of poetry that is eternity wearing the green leaves of time ..

I have been all men known to history, Wondering at the world and at time passing; I have seen evil, and the light blessing Innocent love under a spri….