Each time, the found world surprises — that is its nature. And then what is said by all lovers: “What fools we were, not to have seen.”

Each time, the found world surprises — that is its nature. And then what is said by all lovers: "What fools we were, not to have seen."

March is the month of expectation, The things we do not know, The Persons of Prognostication Are coming now.

When the first bird sings and the first bud opes, And the faint perfume from its chalice steals — I know what the caged bird feels!

The last light of the sun Lies over the pasture Where sheep are grazing. Off toward the sea, Where the pasture dips to the dunes.

Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.

And winter, slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring; And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet, Long live the weeds and the wildness yet.

Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings.

Make a career of humanity. Commit yourself to the noble struggle for equal rights. You will make a better person of yourself, a greater nation of your country, and a finer world to live in.

Home is a place we carry inside ourselves, a place where we welcome the unfamiliar because we know that as time passes it will become the very bedrock of our being.

The year, whose hopes were high and strong, Has now no hopes to wake; Yet one hour more of jest and song For his familiar sake.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play And wild and sweet the words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It is the festival of lights, I have no candles. I light one for each night, pray on a row of nine lighthouses.

The world tonight is clear, If only for an hour Orion’s belt encircling us, The far indigo ocean Thundering near And I remember Rain the alley No shortcut home.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, Are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, The world offers itself to your imagination.

We lie on the cold sand and it embraces us, this beach where locals never go in summer and boast of their absence.

With incense sweet our thanks ascend; Before thy works our powers pall; Though we should strive years without end, We could not thank thee for them all.

The water sings along our keel, The wind falls to a whispering breath; I look into your eyes and feel No fear of life or death; So near is love, so far away The losing strife of yesterday.

With night coming early, And dawn coming late, And ice in the bucket And frost by the gate. The fires burn And the kettles sing, And earth sinks to rest Until next spring.