A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment, Must I then let it go free?
Running in the space I know, Running through fatigue and light, And speaking of how I feel And of how the earth is white.
Through craggy stones and rain, Through tenacious roots and light, All I can see above me Is a waiting leaf of height.
Having stopped in the silence, Those voices along the fade— A line must go on throbbing; But without the harm I’ve made.
- Robert Frost