Richard Wilbur

Oh, let there be nothing on earth but laundry,_x000D_ Nothing but rosy hands in the rising steam_x000D_ And clear dances done in the sight of heaven.

It is true that the poet does not directly address his neighbors; but he does address a great congress of persons who dwell at the back of his mind, a congress of all those who have taught him and whom he has admired; they constitute his ideal audience and his better self.

I would feel dead if I didn't have the ability periodically to put my world in order with a poem. I think to be inarticulate is a great suffering, and is especially so to anyone who has a certain knack for poetry.