The land lay steeped in peace of silent dreams;
There was no sound amid the sacred boughs.
Nor any mournful music in her streams:
Only I saw the shadow on her brows,
Only I knew her for the yearly slain,
And wept, and weep until she come again.
“It’s nice when you can look at your own work and say to yourself, ‘I did a good job.’ And then you let it go, because anything else is going to make you crazy, and anything else, you’re going to be trying to impress people who don’t even like you.”
Nikki Giovanni