American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Inspirational · Motivational · Nature · Passage · Poetry · Spirituality

Mary Oliver

                                                          you can
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched

by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.

— Mary Oliver, “The Poet With His Face in His Hands,” New and Selected Poems, Vol. 2 (Beacon Press, April 15, 2007)

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