I shall not paint them. God them sees, and I: No other can, nor need. They have no form, I may not close with human kisses warm Their eyes which shine afar or from on high, But never will shine nearer till I die. How long, how long! See, I am growing old; I have quite ceased to note in my hair's fold The silver threads that there in ambush...Learn More

Soul, dwelling oft in God's infinitude, And sometimes seeming no more part of me-- This me, worms' heritage--than that sun can be Part of the earth he has with warmth imbued,-- Whence camest thou? whither goest thou? I, subdued With awe of mine own being--thus sit still, Dumb, on the summit of this lonely hill, Whose dry November-grasses...Learn More