I have a profound appreciation for the poetry of Billy Collins. His poems are ruminations or reflections or memories expressed with humour and irony and they touch a very human chord in me.
Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass -“I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough, To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough. To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them or touch anyone, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.”
“Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.”
“Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn’d love, But now I think there is no unreturn’d love, the pay is certain one way or another, (I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return’d, Yet out of that I have written these songs.)