A Face To Lose Youth For, To

Stung By The Splendour Of A Sudden Thought.

O Woman-country! Wooed Not Wed, Loved All The More By Earth's Male-lands, Laid To Their Hearts Instead.

Thou Art My Single Day, God Lends To Leaven What Were All Earth Else, With A Feel Of Heaven.

Tis Man's To Explore Up And Down, Inch By Inch, With The Taper His Reason.

God Is The Perfect Poet, Who In His Person Acts His Own Creations.