Emotions and Feelings

Forgive us all our trespasses, Little creatures, everywhere!

I hear a sudden cry of pain! There is a rabbit in a snare.

So always look for the silver lining And try to find the sunny side of life.

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home, A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind, An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.

The palm at the end of the mind, Beyond the last thought, rises… A gold-feathered bird Sings in the palm.

We say God and the imagination are one… How high that highest candle lights the dark. 1

Light the first light of evening, as in a room In which we rest and, for small reason, think The world imagined is the ultimate good.

These external regions, what do we fill them with Except reflections, the escapades of death, Cinderella fulfilling herself beneath the roof.

It is the celestial ennui of apartments That sends us back to the first idea.

By the terrible incantations of defeats And by the fear that defeats and dreams The whole race is a poet that writes down The eccentric propositions of its fate.

The greatest poverty is not to live In a physical world, to feel that one’s desire Is too difficult to tell from despair.

The greatest poverty is not to live In a physical world, to feel that one’s desire Is too difficult to tell from despair.

It was the last nostalgia: that he Should understand.

It was the last nostalgia: that he Should understand.

One’s grand flights, one’s Sunday baths, One’s tootings at the weddings of the soul Occur as they occur.

She says, “But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss.” Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams And our desires.

We live in an old chaos of the sun, Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsored, free, Of that wide water, inescapable. Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail Whistle about us their spontaneous cries; Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness; And, in the isolation of the sky, At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink, Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair.

Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk and asleep in his boots, Catches tigers In red weather.

Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Why is there always a secret singing When a lawyer cashes in? Why does a hearse horse snicker Hauling a lawyer away?

Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar. Let me pry loose old walls. Let me lift and loosen old foundations.

but beginning of Terror we’re still just able to bear, and why we adore it so is because it serenely disdains to destroy us. Each single angel is terrible.

I am Rose my eyes are blue I am Rose and who are you I am Rose and when I sing I am Rose like anything.