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Poem	We have set out from here for the sublime Pastures of summer shade and mountain stream; I have no doubt we shall arrive on time. Is all the green of that enameled prime A snapshot recollection or a dream? We have set out from here for the sublime Without provisions, without one thin dime, And yet, for all our clumsiness, I deem It certain that we shall arrive on time. No guidebook tells you if you'll have to climb Or swim. However foolish we may seem, We have set out from here for the sublime And must get past the scene of an old crime Before we falter and run out of steam, Riddled by doubt that we'll arrive on time. Yet even in winter a pale paradigm Of birdsong utters its obsessive theme. We have set out from here for the sublime; I have no doubt we shall arrive on time.
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