In one another's arms

It is almost or to a high degree a purely defensive reflex to reach for art, for poetry, for the long views when encountering the grand magic of youth: the freshness, the innocence, that invincible seeming, invincible feeling energy. Though not so, surely not in the final analysis, truly not, and, no, not really envy here or not much envy, but finally rather pity. For so much shall be wasted on these trivial structures of this appalling civilization, so much will be lost, so much will be defeated and subdued. And so it goes, so it will go on. Here in this world, in this cycle, ever on.