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Conrad Aiken

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The poet walked alone in a cold late rain,
And thought his grief was like the crying of sea-birds;
For his lover was dead, he never would love again.

 
Conrad Aiken

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Dead, cold quiet, until he walked up. He looked at me... he walked past me and then I heard in my head. It said, 'Do it, do it, do it,' over and over again.

 
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Long after this controversy will be hushed in silence, long after this turmoil, this agitation will have ceased, long after he is dead and gone, he will be looked upon as the poet of patriotism, as the prophet of nationalism and the lover of humanity. Long after he is dead and gone, his words will be echoed and re-echoed, not only in India, but across distant seas and lands.

 
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