Revisiting some 19th and 20th Century poems that, in a crazy time, call us to a place of introspection and tranquility.
I know no birth, I know no death that chills;
I fear no fate nor fashion, cause nor creed,
I shall outdream the slumber of the hills,
I am the bud, the flower, I the seed:
For I do know that in whate’er I see
I am the part and it the soul of me.
John Spence Muirhead