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Death was not. I lived in a simple drowse:Hands and hair moved through a dream of wakening blossoms.Rain sweetened the cave and the dove still calledThe flowers leaned on themselves, the flowers in hollowsAnd love, love sang toward.
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
Still
Lived
Dove
Love
Hair
Sang
Called
Caves
Simple
Flowers
Sweetened
Death
Rain
Hollows
Hands
Moved
Blossoms
Dream
Flower
Leaned
Stills
Toward
Cave
More quotes by Theodore Roethke
The living all assemble! What's the cue?-- Do what the clumsy partner wants to do!
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I learn by going where I have to go.
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The self says, I am The heart says, I am less The spirit says, you are Nothing.
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Being, not doing, is my first joy.
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The fields stretch out in long unbroken rows. We walk aware of what is far and close. Here distance is familiar as a friend. The feud we kept with space comes to an end.
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A mind too active is no mind at all.
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What falls away is always. And is near.
Theodore Roethke
But when I breath with the birds, The spirit of wrath becomes the spirit of blessings, And the dead begin from their dark to sing in my sleep.
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What's important? That which is dug out of books, or out of the guts?
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How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.
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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.
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I wish I could find an event that meant as much as simple seeing.
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Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.
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Time marks us while we are marking time.
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Let others probe the mystery if they can.Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will -The right thing happens to the happy man.
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In this place of light: he dares to live Who stops being a bird, yet beats his wings Against the immense immeasurable emptiness of things.
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I came to love, I came into my own.
Theodore Roethke
Who rise from flesh to spirit know the fall: The word outleaps the world, and light is all.
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All lovers live by longing, and endure: Summon a vision and declare it pure.
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Art is our defense against hysteria and death.
Theodore Roethke