God, I Can Push The Grass Apart

What Should I Be But Just What I Am?

Where You Used To Be, There Is A Hole In The World, Which I Find Myself Constantly Walking Around In The Daytime, And Falling In At Night. I Miss You Like Hell.

Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare. Fortunate They Who, Though Once Only And Then But Far Away, Have Heard Her Massive Sandal Set On Stone.

All My Life, Following Care Along The Dusty Road, Have I Looked Back On Loveliness And Sighed.

Not Truth, But Faith It Is That Keeps The World Alive.