Life and Existence

I never saw a wild thing Sorry for itself.

 

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

 

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

 

When I am dead and over me bright April Shakes out her rain-drenched hair, Though you should lean above me broken-hearted, I shall not care.

 

It’s not the basic I that the poet is after but the essential you.

 

Wayfarer, there is no way, you make the way as you go. As you go, you make the way and stopping to look behind, you see the path that your feet will never travel again. Wayfarer, there is no way— only foam trails in the sea.

 

Wayfarer, there is no way, you make the way as you go. As you go, you make the way and stopping to look behind, you see the path that your feet will never travel again. Wayfarer, there is no way— only foam trails in the sea.

 

There is not room for Death.

 

No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven’s glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

 

Yes, as my swift days near their goal, ’Tis all that I implore: In life and death a chainless soul, With courage to endure.

 

Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring.

 

Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring.

 

I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

 

I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

 

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark.

 

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.

 

I am Merlin Who follow the Gleam.

 

I am Merlin Who follow the Gleam.

 

Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower—but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.

 

Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower—but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.

 

Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds.

 

From the great deep to the great deep he goes.

 

More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

 

And slowly answer’d Arthur from the barge: The old order changeth, yielding place to new; And God fulfills himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.