Death and pain dominate this world, for though many are cured, they leave still weak, still tremulous, still knowing mortality has whispered… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
In the dark I rest, unready for the light which dawns day after day, eager to be shared. Black silk, shelter me.… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
You can live for years next door to a big pine tree, honored to have so venerable a neighbor, even when it… — Denise Levertov Copy Share Image
Days pass when I forget the mystery. Problems insoluble and problems offering their own ignored solutions jostle for my attention, they crowd… — 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
