This has now become my all-time favourite line of poetry, taken from "The Burning of the Leaves" by Laurence Binyon.
And the blog post that's meant the most to me, of all the posts on this blog, is "A Short History of my Priggishness", where (amongst other things) I discuss what I find fascinating about this line. The spiritual atmosphere that I try to evoke in that post is crucially important to me, to the extent that I often re-read it for my own inspiration.
Could such very personal meditations be of interest to anybody else? I don't know. Writing seems to be a balancing act between drawing on what moves you the most, which will always be intimate and subjective, and trying to address the human condition and themes that are universal (or at least, of public interest). How do you draw from the well of your own soul without falling into it? That's the question.