Songs of the Road Book

This book renews my faith in poetry's pragmatism. Love as impetus is questionable, but loss so very clear.

Alas! that all we loved of him should be,
But for our grief, as if it had not been,
And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me!
Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene
The actors or spectators? Great and mean
Meet massed in death, who lends what life must borrow.
As long as skies are blue, and fields are green,
Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,
Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.
-stanza 21 of Shelley's "Adonais"

Also loved Carolyn Kizer's "The Great Blue Heron."