Song
by Theodore Roethke

From whence cometh song?
From the tear, far away,
From the hound giving tongue,
From the quarry’s weak cry.

From whence, love?
From the dirt in the street,
From the bolt stuck in the groove,
From the cur at my feet.

Whence, death?
From dire hell’s mouth,
From the ghost without breath,
From the wind shifting south.