a shandean commonplace book

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. 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, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —  over and over announcing your place in the family of things. Mary Oliver

A  Nocturnal Reverie In   such a Night , when every louder Wind Is to its distant Cavern safe confin'd ; And only gentle Zephyr fans his Wings , And lonely Philomel , still waking , sings ; Or from some Tree , fam'd for the Owl's delight , She , hollowing clear , directs the Wand'rer right : In such a Night , when passing Clouds give place , Or thinly vail the Heav'ns mysterious Face ; When in some River , overhung with Green , The waving Moon and trembling Leaves are seen ; When freshen'd Grass now bears it self upright , And makes cool Banks to pleasing Rest invite , Whence springs the Woodbind , and the Bramble-Rose , And where the sleepy Cowslip shelter'd grows ; Whilst now a paler Hue the Foxglove takes , Yet checquers still with Red the dusky brakes : When scatter'd Glow-worms , but in Twilight fine , Shew trivial Beauti...