Nature does not complete things. She is chaotic. Man must finish, and he does so by making a garden and building a wall.
Robert FrostLike a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. . . . Read it a hundred times; it will forever keep its freshness as a metal keeps its fragrance. It can never lose its sense of a meaning that once unfolded by surprise as it went.
Robert Frost