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Devotion

Robert Frost
The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to ocean - Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.

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A Time to Talk
When a friend calls to me from the road / And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
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There sandy seems the golden sky / And golden seems the sandy plain.
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Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too, / And the daft sun-assaulter, he
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know. / His house is in the village though;