For Hearts Where Wakened Love Doth Lurk,

The Moon Is Bleached As White As Wool, And Just Dropping Under; Every Star Is Gone But Three, And They Hang Far Asunder,-- There's A Sea-ghost All In Gray, A Tall Shape Of Wonder!

I Wish, And I Wish That The Spring Would Go Faster, Nor Long Summer Bide So Late; And I Could Grow On Like The Foxglove And Aster, For Some Things Are Ill To Wait.

O Woman! Thou Wert Fashioned To Beguile: So Have All Sages Said, All Poets Sung.

How Gently Rock Yon Poplars High Against The Reach Of Primrose Sky With Heaven's Pale Candles Stored.

Man Is The Miracle In Nature. God Is The One Miracle To Man. Behold, "there Is A God," Thou Sayest. Thou Sayest Well: In That Thou Sayest All. To Be Is More Of Wonderful, Than Being, To Have Wrought, Or Reigned, Or Rested.