Theodore Roethke

But when I breath with the birds, The spirit of wrath becomes the spirit of blessings, And the dead begin read more

But when I breath with the birds, The spirit of wrath becomes the spirit of blessings, And the dead begin from their dark to sing in my sleep.

All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain withi its singular bright shade Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, read more

All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain withi its singular bright shade Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, The after-light upon ice-burdened pines; Odor of basswood upon a mountain slope, A scene beloved of bees; Silence of water above a sunken tree: The pure serene of memory of one man,-- A ripple widening from a single stone Winding around the waters of the world.