Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous, Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus, See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideou… - Stephen Vincent Benét

There is a wilderness we walk alone
However well-companioned

Outcasts of war, misfits, rebellious souls, Seekers of some vague kingdom in the stars — They hide out in the hills and stir up trouble, Call themselves prophets, too, and prophesy That something new is coming to the world, The Lord knows what! <p> Well, it's a long time coming, And, meanwhile, we're the wheat between the stones.

American muse, whose strong and diverse heart
So many men have tried to understand
But only made it smaller with their art,
Because you are as various as your land,

As mountainous-deep, as flowered with blue rivers,
Thirsty with deserts, buried under snows,
As native as the shape of Navajo quivers,
And native, too, as the sea-voyaged rose.