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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395304" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Flower Herding on Mount Monadnock</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1<br>I can support it no longer. <br>Laughing ruefully at myself <br>For all I claim to have suffered <br>I get up. Damned nightmarer!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is New Hampshire out here,<br>It is nearly the dawn.<br>The song of the whippoorwill stops<br>And the dimension of depth seizes everything.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2<br>The whistles of a peabody bird go overhead <br>Like a needle pushed five times through the air, <br>They enter the leaves, and come out little changed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The air is so still<br>That as they go off through the trees<br>The love songs of birds do not get any fainter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">3<br>The last memory I have<br>Is of a flower that cannot be touched,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through the bloom of which, all day, <br>Fly crazed, missing bees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">4<br>As I climb sweat gets up my nostrils, <br>For an instant I think I am at the sea,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One summer off Cap Ferrat we watched a black seagull <br>Straining for the dawn, we stood in the surf,<br>Grasshoppers splash up where I step,<br>The mountain laurel crashes at my thighs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">5<br>There is something joyous in the elegies <br>Of birds. They seem<br>Caught up in a formal delight,<br>Though the mourning dove whistles of despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But at last in the thousand elegies<br>The dead rise in our hearts,<br>On the brink of our happiness we stop <br>Like someone on a drunk starting to weep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">6<br>I kneel at a pool,<br>I look through my face<br>At the bacteria I think<br>I see crawling through the moss.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My face sees me,<br>The water stirs, the face, <br>Looking preoccupied,<br>Gets knocked from its bones.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">7<br>I weighed eleven pounds<br>At birth, having stayed on<br>Two extra weeks in the womb. <br>Tempted by room and fresh air <br>I came out big as a policeman <br>Blue-faced, with narrow red eyes. <br>It was eight days before the doctor <br>Would scare my mother with me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Turning and craning in the vines <br>I can make out through the leaves<br>The old, shimmering nothingness, the sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">8<br>Green, scaly moosewoods ascend, <br>Tenants of the shaken paradise,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At every wind last night's rain <br>Comes splattering from the leaves,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It drops in flurries and lies there, <br>The footsteps of some running start.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">9<br>From a rock<br>A waterfall,<br>A single trickle like a strand of wire, <br>Breaks into beads halfway down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know<br>The birds fly off<br>But the hug of the earth wraps<br>With moss their graves and the giant boulders.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>10<br>In the forest I discover a flower.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The invisible life of the thing<br>Goes up in flames that are invisible, <br>Like cellophane burning in the sunlight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It burns up. Its drift is to be nothing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In its covertness it has a way<br>Of uttering itself in place of itself,<br>Its blossoms claim to float in the Empyrean,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A wrathful presence on the blur of the ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The appeal to heaven breaks off.<br>The petals begin to fall, in self-forgiveness.<br>It is a flower. On this mountainside it is dying.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Galway+Kinnell">Galway Kinnell</a><div class=q>
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I can support it no longer. 
Laughing ruefully at myself 
For all I claim to have suffered 
I get up. Damned nightmarer!

It is New Hampshire out here,
It is nearly the dawn.
The song of the whippoorwill stops
And the dimension of depth seizes e..."></div>
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