Robert Lowell

“No weekends for the gods now. Warsflicker, earth licks its open sores,fresh breakage, fresh promotions, chanceassassinations, no advance.Only man thinning out his own kindsounds through the Sabbath noon, the blindswipe of the pruner and his knifebusy about the tree of life...Pity the planet, all joy gonefrom this sweet volcanic cone;peace to our children when they fallin small war on the heels of smallwar - until the end of timeto police th eearth, a ghostorbiting forever lostin our monotonous sublime.”

“The Lord survives the rainbow of His will.”

“If we see light at the end of the tunnel, it the light of the oncoming train.”

“The light at the end of the tunnel is just the light of an oncoming train.”

“I saw the spiders marching through the air,Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed dayIn latter August when the hayCame creaking to the barn. But whereThe wind is westerly,Where gnarled November makes the spiders flyInto the apparitions of the sky,They purpose nothing but their ease and dieUrgently beating east to sunrise and the sea;”

“In Boston serpents whistle at the cold.”

“If youth is a defect, it is one we outgrow too soon.”

“And blue-lung'd combers lumbered to the kill.”

“We are all old-timers,each of us holds a locked razor.”

“What we love we are.”