Flood
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#20 Flood
Goldbrown upon the sated flood
The rockvine clusters lift and sway;
Vast wings above the lambent waters brood
Of sullen day.
A waste of waters ruthlessly
Sways and uplifts its weedy mane
Where brooding day stares down upon the sea
In dull disdain.
Uplift and sway, O golden vine,
Your clustered fruits to love's full flood,
Lambent and vast and ruthless as is thine
Incertitude!
Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they being
both the servants of his providence. Art is the perfection of nature. Were
the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos. Nature hath
made one world, and art another. In brief, all things are artificial; for
nature is the art of God.
The human mind is not capable of grasping the Universe. We are like a
little child entereing a huge library. The walls are covered to the ceilings
with books in many different tongues. The child knows that someone must have
written these books. It does not know who or how. It does not understand the
languages in which they are written. But the child notes a definite plan in
the arrangement of books--a mysterious order which it does not comprehend,
but only dimly suspects. Albert Einstein
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only
the essentail facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to
teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. Henry
David Thoreau
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This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is
never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor ever rising.
Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on seas and
continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.
John Muir
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sunflowers, shape and so on.