Death Is An Ascension To A Better

To Roam Giddily, And Be Everywhere But At Home, Such Freedom Doth A Banishment Become.

I Long To Talk With Some Old Lover's Ghost, Who Died Before The God Of Love Was Born.

God Is So Omnipresent. . . . God Is An Angel In An Angel, And A Stone In A Stone, And A Straw In A Straw.

I Neglect God And His Angles For The Noise Of A Fly, For The Rattling Of A Coach, For The Whining Of A Door.

Busy Old Fool, Unruly Sun, Why Dost Thou Thus Through Windows And Through Curtains Call On Us? Must To Thy Motions Lovers Seasons Run?