Into the dark night Resignedly I go, I am not so afraid of the dark night As the friends I do not know, I do not fear the night above As I fear the friends below.

— Stevie Smith

It is the privilege of the righto waste the time of the Porto water with tears in secret tree that grows in secret That bears fruit in secret That ripened falls to the ground in secret And manures the parent tree Oh the wicked tree of hatred and the secret The sap rising and the tears falling.

— Stevie Smith

Love is not love that wounded bleeds And bleeding sullies slow. Come death within my hands and I Unto my love will go.

— Stevie Smith

Marriage I think For women Is the best of opiates. It kills the thoughts That think about the thoughts, It is the best of opiates. So said Maria. But too long in solitude she'd dwelt, And too long her thoughts had felt Their strength. So when the man drew near, Out popped her thoughts and covered him with fear. Poor Maria! Better that she had kept her thoughts on a chain, For now she's alone again and all in pain;She sighs for the man that went and the thoughts that stay To trouble her dreams by night and her dreams by day.

— Stevie Smith

My friendships, they are a very strong part of my life, they are as light as gossamer, but also they are as strong as steel. And I cannot throw them off, nor altogether do with them or without them. And I love them at the point where they say: It is nice to see you again. And I love them too at the point when they say: Goodbye, come again soon. The rhythm of friendship is a very good rhythm.

— Stevie Smith

My heart was full of softening showers, I used to swing like this for hours, I did not care for war or death, I was glad to draw my breath.

— Stevie Smith

My Muse sits forlorn She wishes she had not been born She sits in the cold No word she says is ever told.

— Stevie Smith

Not Waving but Drowning Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no, no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.

— Stevie Smith

Oh, Lion! in a peculiar guise, Sharp Roman road to Paradise, Come eat me up, I'll pay thy toll With all my flesh, and keep my soul.

— Stevie Smith

Prate not to me of suicide, Faint heart in battle, not for pride I say Endure, but that such end denied Makes welcome yet the death that's to be died.

— Stevie Smith