Even the weariest river

Where: Bradford, Vermont
When: November 7, 2009

Title from a passage from Swinburne's "Garden of Proserpine", that I ran across in a newspaper years and years ago, and have kept in my wallet ever since. I recently realized it was there again just after one of the zen talks I had been going to, and was amused by how closely the sentiments parallel each other.

"From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving,
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives forever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea."

(As an aside, I am immensely frustrated at the moment by how much information is lost in the re-sizing/uploading process. The trees actually have detail, I promise. Sigh.)