But for us the road unfurls itself, we don't stop walking, we know there is far to go.

But for us the road unfurls itself, we don't stop walking, we know there is far to go.

Both art and faith are dependent on imagination; both are ventures into the unknown.

The world is not with us enough. O taste and see.

Yes, he is here in this open field, in sunlight, among the few young trees set out to modify the bare facts-- he's here, but only because we are here. When we go, he goes with us to be your hands that never do violence, your eyes that wonder, your lives that daily praise life by living it, by laughter. He is never alone here, never cold in the field of graves.

Nothing we do has the quickness, the sureness, the deep intelligence living at peace would have.

Insofar as poetry has a social function it is to awaken sleepers by other means than shock.