The Habitats

The lucid shore is not the sun;
The journey loudest sighs and leads,
As slug with fire, burns with grace;
Life shares where virtue breathes,
Twice a day as thou should know.

For all must have a validated mark
Where roots grip down and thus arise—
The boughs loved here it is ours,
Against the night-cover, I seek life for mine eyes.

• Gerard Manley Hopkins