From the end of "In Praise Of Limestone" by W.H. Auden:
In so far as we have to look forward
To death as a fact, no doubt we are right: But if
Sins can be forgiven, if bodies rise from the dead,
These modifications of matter into
Innocent athletes and gesticulating fountains,
Made solely for pleasure, make a further point:
The blessed will not care what angle they are regarded from,
Having nothing to hide. Dear, I know nothing of
Either, but when I try to imagine a faultless love
Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur
Of underground streams, what I see is a limestone landscape.
The poem in its entirety here. Jonah Lehrer explains why it's his single favorite poem:
It's this old man talking about how the body is like limestone—it seems so solid, yet mere water can wear it away. It's looser than his earlier poems. There are lines in there that don't quite fit the scheme, that are a little too long, the metaphor's a little cluttered. But the poem's messiness is part of its beauty.
(Photo: The sun sets over the sea near Durdle Door on March 15, 2011 in Dorset, England. The natural limestone arch near Lulworth in Dorset, is one of the highlights of the Jurassic Coast, a World Heritage Site. By Matt Cardy/Getty Images.)
The Dish 