Een gedicht dat ik blijf herlezen is ‘That Nature Is a Heraclitean Fire and Of the Comfort Of the Resurrection’ van Gerard Manley Hopkins waarin de volgende verzen voorkomen:
“Million-fuelèd, nature’s bonfire burns on.
But quench her bonniest, dearest to her, her clearest-selvèd spark
Man, how fast his firedint, his mark on mind, is gone!
Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark
Drowned. O pity and indignation. Manshap, that shone
Sheer off, disseval, a star, death blots black out; nor mark
Is any of him at all so stark
But vastness blurs and time beats level.”