What joy when the insouciant armadillo glances at us and doesn't quicken his trotting across the track into the palm brush. What is this joy? That no animal falters, but knows what it must do? — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
The stairway is not a thing of gleaming strands a radiant evanescence for angels' feet that only glance in their tread, and need not touch the stone. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
Death and pain dominate this world, for though many are cured, they leave still weak, still tremulous, still knowing mortality has whispered to them;… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
I believe every space and comma is a living part of the poem and has its function, just as every muscle and pore of… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
Each part of speech a spark awaiting redemption, each a virtue, a power in abeyance. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
It is fatal to one's artistic life to talk about something this is in process. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
If woman is inconstant, good, I am faithful to ebb and flow, I fall in season and now is a time of ripening. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
Putting his hope in certain death, lowering his head again to the grass. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
slowly the pale dew-beads of light lapped up from flowers can thicken, darken to gold: honey of the human. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
“I am, a shadow that grows longer as the sun moves, drawn out on a thread of wonder. If I bear burdens they begin… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
In city, in suburb, in forest, no way to stretch out the arms - so if you would grow, go straight up or deep… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
I like to find what's not found at once, but lies within something of another nature, in repose, distinct. — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
There is no savor more sweet, more salt than to be glad to be what, woman, and who, myself, I am... — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
