These poems, with all their crudities, doubts, and confusions, are written for the love of Man and in praise of God, and I'd be a damn' fool if they weren't

Though lovers be lost love shall not

I hold a beast, an angel and a madman in me, and my enquiry is as to their working, and my problem is their subjugation and victory, downthrow and upheaval, and my effort is their self-expression

And death shall have no dominion. Dead men naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the west moon; When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, They shall have stars at elbow and foot; Though they go mad they shall be sane, Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again; Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion

My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out

It snowed last year too I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea

He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day Rage, rage against the dying of the light

A horrid alcoholic explosion scatters all my good intentions like bits of limbs and clothes over the doorsteps and into the saloon bars of the tawdriest pubs