It is the same life that emerges in joy through the dust of the earth into numberless waves of flower.

We can make a little order where we are, and then the big sweep of history on which we can have no effect doesn't overwhelm us. We do it with colors, with a garden, with the furnishings of a room, or with sounds and words. We make a little form, and we gain composure.

The way a crow Shook down on me. The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood. And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day.

In the mountain, stillness surges up to explore its own height. In the lake, movement stands still to contemplate its own depth.

Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world, I have seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man.