“To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop in the oats, to air in the lung let evening come. Let it… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
The poet's job is to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
My ear is not working, my poetry ear. I can't write a line that doesn't sound like pots and pans falling out… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
Otherwise I got out of bed on two strong legs. It might have been otherwise. I ate cereal, sweet milk, ripe, flawless… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
A poet's job is to find a name for everything: to be a fearless finder of the names of things. — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
“Here You always belonged here. You were theirs, certain as a rock. I’m the one who worries if I fit in with the furniture… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
“All day the blanket snapped and swelled on the line, roused by a hot spring wind.... From there it witnessed the first sparrow, early… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
“Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn, moving up the bales as the sun moves down. Let the cricket… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
If you want a different life, you gotta start doing and learning different things. — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
I am the one whose love overcomes you, already with you when you think to call my name. — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
“To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop in the oats, to air in the lung let evening come. Let it come, as… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
“I divested myself of despair and fear when I came here. Now there is no more catching one's own eye in the mirror, there… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
The poet's job is to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so difficult to… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
Let it come, as it will, and don't be afraid. God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come. — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
“Reading Aloud to My Father I chose the book haphazard from the shelf, but with Nabokov's first sentence I knew it wasn't the thing… — Jane Kenyon Copy Share Image
