All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain with its singular bright shade Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, The after-light upon ice-burdened pines; Odor of basswood upon a mountain slope, A scene beloved of bees; Silence of water above a sunken tree: The pure serene of memory of one man,- A ripple widening from a single stone Winding around the waters of the world.

I wish I could find an event that meant as much as simple seeing.

Time marks us while we are marking time.

I can't go on flying apart just for those who want the benefit of a few verbal kicks. My God, do you know what poems like that cost? They're not written vicariously: they come out of actual suffering, real madness.

I lose and find myself in the long water. I am gathered together once more.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?

And I walked, I walked through the light air; I moved with the morning.