All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain with its singular bright shade Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, The after-light… — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
“What is madness but nobility of the soul at odds with circumstance.” — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
The body and the soul know how to play In that dark world where gods have lost their way. — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
“What's madness but nobility of soul At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire! I know the purity of pure despair, my… — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
“Let others probe the mystery if they can. Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will- The right thing happens to the happy man.… — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
“In a dark time, the eye begins to see, I meet my shadow in the deepening shade; I hear my echo in… — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
“Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire. My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly, Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I… — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
What's madness but nobility of soul At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire! I know the purity of pure despair, My… — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I… — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
A lively understandable spirit Once entertained you. It will come again. Be still. Wait. — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
I bleed my bones, their marrow to bestowUpon that God who knows what I would know. — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain with its singular bright shade Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, The after-light upon ice-burdened… — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
I can hear, underground, that sucking and sobbing, In my veins, in my bones I feel it,- The small water seeping upward, The tight… — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley. — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
To follow the drops sliding from a lifting oar, Head up, while the rower breathes, and the small boat drifts quietly shoreward... — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
Any fool can take a bad line out of a poem; it takes a real pro to throw out a good line. — Theodore Roethke Copy Share Image
