Our life runs down in sending up the clock. The brook runs down in sending up our life. The sun runs down in sending up the brook. And there is something sending up the sun.

It must be the brook Can trust itself to go by contraries The way I can with you - and you with me - Because we're - we're - I don't know What we are.

Something inspires the only cow of late To make no more of a wall than an open gate, And think no more of wall-builders than fools.

The birds that came to it through the air At broken windows flew out and in, Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh From too much dwelling on what has been.

Every man is the center of a circle, whose fatal circumference he can not pass.

Obeying an inalienable law, things grew, spreading riotous and strange in their instinct for growth.

'...by association with natures enormities, a man's heart may truly grow big also. There is a way of looking upon a landscape as a moving picture and being sat…