…by love into a single volume bound,
the pages scattered through the universe…
Those thoughts to me were oaks.
…a book made full of days (pages),
a ready effort full of all places then
that may be because I have loved them…
Every book is a quotation; and every house is a quotation
out of all forests and mines and stone quarries; and every
man is a quotation from all his ancestors.
To ask or search I blame thee not, for heaven
Is as the book of God before thee set,
Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learn
His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years…
A book is a garden…
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind…
Your voices sound like trees creaking in the forest.