Richard Wilbur

Writing poetry is talking to oneself; yet it is a mode of talking to oneself in which the self disappears; and the product's something that, though it may not be for everybody, is about everybody.

— Richard Wilbur

Hebetude. It is a graph of a theme that flings "I merely leap and pause."

— Richard Wilbur

What you hope for And blow your brains out.

— Richard Wilbur

What is the opposite of two? A lonely me, a lonely you.

— Richard Wilbur

A thrush, because I'd been wrong, Not governed by me only.

— Richard Wilbur

Your hands hold roses always in a way that says For a moment all that it touches back to wonder.

— Richard Wilbur

Founded on rock and facing the night-fouled sea Solving the Gordian waters ...

— Richard Wilbur

The beacon-blaze unsheathing turns Our human visions . . .

— Richard Wilbur

The eyes open to a cry of pulleys, The morning air is all awash with angels.

— Richard Wilbur

Now they are rising together in calm swells With the deep joy of their impersonal breathing...

— Richard Wilbur

The soul shrinks And clear dances done in the sight of heaven."

— Richard Wilbur

The soul descends once more in bitter love To accept the waking body

— Richard Wilbur

The tall camels of the spirit To the land of sheer horizon...

— Richard Wilbur

O connoisseurs of thirst, And all shinings need to be shaped and borne.

— Richard Wilbur

Wisely watch for the sight Oasis, light incarnate.

— Richard Wilbur

My dog lay dead five days without a grave And hear the flies' intolerable buzz.

— Richard Wilbur

Well, I was ten and very much afraid. In beast or man.

— Richard Wilbur

Last night I saw the grass And saw the dog emerging.

— Richard Wilbur

I started in to cry and call his name, I beg death's pardon now. And mourn the dead.

— Richard Wilbur