Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that, if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for Being.

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut.

Whoso walketh in solitude, And inhabiteth the wood, Choosing light, wave, rock, and bird, Before the money-loving herd, Into that forester shall pass From thes…

But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together To make up a year, And a sphere.

There is the view that poetry should improve your life. I think people confuse it with the Salvation Army.

Ever charming, ever new, When will the landscape tire the view?

Death is an angel with two faces: To us he turns A face of terror, blighting all things fair; The other burns With glory of the stars, and love is there.