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I came where the river Ran over stones My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.
Theodore Roethke
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Theodore Roethke
Age: 55 †
Born: 1908
Born: May 25
Died: 1963
Died: August 1
Poet
Teacher
Writer
Saginaw
Michigan
Summer
Waters
Early
Ran
Joy
Streams
Knew
River
Came
Rivers
Water
Stones
Ears
Sang
Rain
Veins
More quotes by Theodore Roethke
I wish I could find an event that meant as much as simple seeing.
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The indignity of it!- With everything blooming above me, Lilies, pale-pink cyclamen, roses, Whole fields lovely and inviolate,- Me down in the fetor of weeds, Crawling on all fours, Alive, in a slippery grave.
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In a dark time, the eye begins to see / I meet my shadow in the deepening shade...Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
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Art is our defense against hysteria and death.
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You must believe: a poem is a holy thing - a good poem, that is. The poem, even a short time after being written, seems no miracle unwritten, it seems something beyond the capacity of the gods.
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All lovers live by longing, and endure: Summon a vision and declare it pure.
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How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.
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A too explicit elucidation in education destroys much of the pleasure of learning. There should be room for sly hinters, masters of suggestion.
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I always felt mean, jogging back over the logging road,As if I had broken the natural order of things in that swamplandDisturbed some rhythm, old and of vast importance,By pulling off flesh from the living planetAs if I had committed, against the whole scheme of life, a desecration.
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By daily dying, I have come to be.
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A mind too active is no mind at all.
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Time marks us while we are marking time.
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Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.
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What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?
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I came to love, I came into my own.
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We think by feeling. What is there to know?
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What falls away is always. And is near.
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I have gone into the waste lonely places
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And I walked, I walked through the light air I moved with the morning.
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And soon a branch, part of a hidden scene,The leafy mind, that long was tightly furled,Will turn its private substance into green,And young shoots spread upon our inner world.
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