The summer demands and takes away too much. /But night, the reserved, the reticent, gives […]
The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot be. John Ashbery
Just when I thought there wasn’t room enough for another thought in my head, I […]
The soul establishes itself. But how far can it swim out through the eyes And […]
Where then shall hope and fear their objects find? John Ashbery