For I have had too much Of apple-picking:I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired.

The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom... in a clarification of life - not necessarily a great clarification, such as sects and cults are founded on, but in a momentary stay against confusion.

If one by one we counted people out

There's nothing I'm afraid of like scared people.

Create and stir other people to create.

Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?

Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.