Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels. - William Carlos Williams

Mother, who was known among her intimates as a medium, suddenly said to my father, looking right and left at Ed and me, “So these are the boys. How they have grown. Come here, my dears,” she said to us, reaching out her hands, “and let me see you!” This to her own children whom she had been caring for all day. Pop, who was accustomed to such occasions, told us gently, bewildered as we must have been, to do as we were bid — to go to Mother, which we did, one on either side. She put her hands on each of our heads and patted us with smiles of approval and loving affection. “How well they look. I am so happy.” At this Pop said to her, to his own wife, “Who is this we have the pleasure of talking to?” “Don’t you know me?” Mother answered. “Why I’m Lou Paine.

THE THOUGHTFUL LOVER

Deny yourself all
half things. Have it
or leave it.

But it will keep — or
it is not worth
the having.

Never start
anything you can't
finish — However do not lose
faith because you
are starved!

She loves you
she says. Believe it — tomorrow.

But today
the particulars
of poetry

that difficult art
require
your whole attention.

I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.