Today I was looking at some natural marble and I thought about how its amazingly beautiful pattern was formed by extreme and violent forces.
I was reminded of Wordsworth’s description of poetry as “emotion recollected in tranquility.”
I said this to the person next to me, and he replied “Yes, it’s the poetry of the earth.”
Which then reminded me of what Keats said in one of his poems: “The poetry of Earth is never dead.”