A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom. - Robert Frost

The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree</p>Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

It is absurd to think that the only way to tell if a poem is lasting is to wait and see if it lasts. The right reader of a good poem can tell the moment it strikes him that he has taken an immortal wound—that he will never get over it.

First there's the children's house of make-believe, Some shattered dishes underneath a pine, The playthings in the playhouse of the children. Weep for what little things could make them glad.