The Woods Are Lovely, Dark, And Deep

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 Is This Backward Motion Toward The Source, Against The Stream, That Most We See Ourselves In, The Tribute Of The Current To The Source. It Is From This In Nature We Are From. It Is Most Us.

I See For Nature No Defeat In One Tree's Overthrow Or For Myself In My Retreat For Yet Another Blow.

Any Eye Is An Evil Eye That Looks In On To A Mood Apart.

I Only Hope That When I Am Free, As They Are Free To Go In Quest, Of The Knowledge Beyond The Bounds Of Life, It May Not Seem Better To Me To Rest.

The People I Am Most Afraid Of Are Those Who Are The Most Afraid.