"I am no more, but you’re alive.
And the wind with plaint and wailing
Sets the woods and villa swaying.
It rocks not only single pines
But all the trees in joint array
And the remote, unbounded skyline -
Like wooden hulls of frigates riding
On the broad surface of the bay.
And this - not out of waywardness,
Nor in a fit of fury blind,
But in life’s anguish to seek out
Words to compose your lullaby."
"I am pleased enough with the surfaces—in fact they alone seem to me to be of much importance. Such things for example as the grasp of a child’s hand in your own, the flavor of an apple, the embrace of a friend or lover, the silk of a girl’s thigh, the sunlight on the rock and leaves, the feel of music, the bark of a tree, the abrasion of granite and sand, the plunge of clear water into a pool, the face of the wind—what else is there? What else do we need?"